Of Innocence and Intellect
by HamDemon
Summary: Part One of the Far-Flung Trilogy. When the SWA finds that Padania has been receiving foreign support they must send six of their best cyborgs abroad in order to deal with the problem. Part One: Claes and Angelica in Algeria. Anonymous reviews now enabled
1. Ancient History

_Disclaimer: I do not own Gunslinger Girl or its characters, which were taken from the manga series of the same name, all of which are the property of their creator, Yu Aida._

**Prologue**

Chapter 1: Ancient History

History has proved many times over that even the greatest, most powerful empires and kingdoms can be defeated, simply because of an excess of ambition. The French failed to take permanent hold on Algeria in the 1800's, the brutal, vicious Mongols of Central Asia fell short of absorbing Japan into its empire not once, but twice, and Sweden in the Great Northern War could not wrest control over the Baltic Sea in its Tug-o'-War with Russia.

However, this is not a story that would likely be written into the history books, for the factions involved operate as secretly as possible, getting as little public attention as they can. This is especially true of the Social Welfare Agency of Italy. For years, they worked under the guise of a company that gives disabled children new lives, and in a way that _is_ what they do. However, these new lives are oftentimes not what anyone would expect. Many of the more tragic stories in the Agency are offered up to Section Two, which augment the strength, speed, reflexes, and combat ability of the children, the majority of which are young girls. These cyborgs are chosen by older men with military backgrounds, forming a _Fratello_ which is deployed across Italy combating terrorism.

For quite a while, the Agency has focused most of its energy on a single terrorist faction. The Republican Faction. Padania. These right-wing radicals have fought, bribed, and threatened their way to establishing independence in the North. Their wealthy backers fund their projects, whether they are bombings or assassinations.

For some time, the SWA has remained a step ahead of Padania, oftentimes intercepting their forces and assassinating them. This is in great part due to the Fratelli. Great men with great experiences training what slowly became considered the ultimate killing machines, their cyborgs. The girls could be tailored in an infinite number of ways to function flawlessly in combat situations, and the augmentations given to them ensure absolute focus and control. In fact, it is because of the success of Section Two that the Agency thrives, earning funders and supporters through performing contract killings for prominent Italian politicians. With this wealth, the Agency expands their cyborg development techniques, improving on their designs, making the already deadly girls faster and more efficient. Eventually, they were even able to eliminate the deteriorating effects of the implants on the girls. These successes saved some of the older, more experienced cyborgs, such as Angelica, Triela, Henrietta, and Rico, however at the expense of Claes who, of course, was the guinea pig for these newly developed augmentations.

Despite their success, however, something was bound to change, and this change was first seen in the death of the Beatrice-Bernardo Fratello. The pair had been dispatched by the Agency to eliminate a very wealthy and very prominent funder of the Padania Faction. Upon arriving at their destination, however, their hotel was bombed while they were away scouting out their mission area. Spooked at how quickly the Republican Faction had found them, Bernardo called into HQ, aborting the mission. On their way home, they were intercepted by a hit squad, presumably deployed by Padania. The Fratello fought bravely, but were ultimately killed by superior weaponry. Bernardo was shot through the heart, and his loyal Beatrice killed by shots to the head.

In the following months, the SWA received blow after blow, losing Fratelli in the field. Some were killed in bombings, others by firefights with assassins. Near the end of the final two months, several Fratelli were even murdered in close combat, a feat considered by everyone to be nearly impossible. Everyone save for Triela of course, who had had a certain experience many years ago. However, with their new implants and upgrades, Triela and the other senior cyborgs began to feel increasingly apprehensive about how easily the Fratelli were being killed. It wouldn't be long, they thought, until they would have to prove themselves against this new threat, whatever it may be. And sure enough, the first put to the test was the Tunisian Princess herself. Triela the Golden Girl…


	2. Desperation

Chapter 2: Desperation

It had been a simple "grab-and-go" mission. Find the transporter, take their cargo, and return it to HQ. Those were the objectives. They could have been far more dangerous. The Agency could have had Triela and Hilshire intercept and retrieve an armed bomb delivery for example. Or, they also might have sent them to assault and hijack an armored motorcade. Even then, Triela had dealt with worse before.

This time, however, it wasn't so much the mission giving the pair trouble. It was getting back home. Just three miles from Rome, Triela and Hilshire had run into a roadblock of black armored vans, in front of which were lined up more than a dozen men wearing balaclavas and body armor. Immediately, the assassins opened fire with RPK rifles, raining 7.62 Hell onto the Fratello. Thankfully, Hilshire had shoveled away several months' worth of government paychecks in order to upgrade his car with what he liked to call "security measures". A few inches of steel added to the body of the car, bullet resistant glass, and roll-flat tires were enough to satisfy Hilshire, but Triela had complained, saying that these upgrades were wastes of money. She would be thanking him now.

"Alright, I admit it," the blonde, blue-eyed cyborg panted to her handler, "You were right about giving the car armor." Triela was already feeling the effects of combat fatigue, partly because of the sudden appearance of the assassins, but mostly because Hilshire had been wounded while trying to get the car's engine between them and their assailants. Triela crouched down behind this engine now, her SIG-Sauer P230 SL at the ready, prepared to fight for dear life if the gunmen decided to advance on the vehicle. Despite this dismal resolve, however, she still found the spirit to joke innocently by adding, "I just wish you'd listened to me and installed the rocket launchers too. If you had, I'm sure we could've just blown through these guys."

Hilshire, slumped against the car's front tire in agony, clutched his side which was bleeding freely. He was perspiring and almost out of breath, but this didn't stop him from assailing his partner with orders. "Cut the chatter Triela," he barked pitifully, "Give us some suppressing fire until our backup arrives!"

The girl hesitated for the slightest of instants at the thought of exposing herself to a large squad of hitmen with high-powered automatic rifles, but then her sparse conditioning kicked in. She jumped out from behind the engine and, trying not to focus too much on aim or accuracy, fired off several rounds from her pistol, killing one of the gunmen with a shot to the throat, but ineffectively hitting the body armor of several others. She quickly crouched back down, wondering how many more times she could get lucky with her headshots. Desperately, she questioned Hilshire, "What's the ETA for our backup," adding with a hint of panic, "I can't do this forever, Hilshire."

"They're close," he replied breathlessly, "Less than ten minutes away."

Triela thought she could hear him slipping away. She helplessly bit her lip, and then popped out of cover once again to empty the rest of her magazine into the assassins. As she reloaded, she pleaded to Hilshire, "I'll do the best I can, but I doubt I can hold them off with my pistols alone. You _have_ to hang in there, though. If you give up on me, I'll never forgive you."

For several hour-long minutes Triela continued her defensive, praying that the gunmen would stay where they were until the other Fratelli arrived. Thanks to a little luck and a lot of desperation, Triela was able to keep them from moving towards the car. Whether they were worried about giving her the opportunity to make more accurate shots, or were expecting some kind of trick up her sleeve, the assassins continued to fire short bursts at the vehicle without taking so much as a step forward. Triela had even managed to dispatch two more of her opponents with fortuitous shots to their heads.

There was still one problem, however, and that was the fact that the assassins had several vans full of ammunition, while Triela had about seven magazines total. Her P230 SL ran dry quickly, despite her attempts to make every magazine last as long as possible, and so she switched to her H&K P7M8 to continue the fight.

Try as she might, Triela could not effectively manage her ammunition due to increasing panic and combat fatigue. At first, she just felt slower than usual, having trouble strategizing and keeping focused. Now, however, she began to sweat, her hands were shaking, she began to feel dizzy, and a migraine was splitting her head wide open. Triela quickly found herself staring blankly at her final magazine. She gritted her teeth and winced as she removed two of the bullets and placed them into her breast pocket. _Just in case_, she thought to herself.

Hilshire watched her tuck the bullets away. He didn't feel so bad anymore, but he did feel a little numb. His breathing and heart rate had slowed, and he was feeling a bit more relaxed, but also a bit drowsy. He asked Triela in a slight daze, "Are you losing hope?"

Triela looked at her handler with an expression of misery, but she quickly dispelled the sorrow from her demeanor. She hurriedly plastered a fake smile onto her face and lied pitifully to Hilshire, "What do you mean? I'm just saving some ammunition for our next mission."

He wasn't fooled for a moment, despite his weariness. Triela was visibly suffering from shell shock, and hopefully this was just another one of its symptoms. Nevertheless, he tried his best to tell her something that he felt he had needed to say years ago. "Triela, I need…" he sputtered. Just by talking, he had called the pain back again. His head throbbed, and he felt like he was going to vomit.

Triela fired off two rounds, and then took cover again in order to calm Hilshire down. "Don't talk," she told him soothingly, "If you waste your breath, we won't be able to save you, even once we get you to the infirmary."

Hilshire stubbornly continued, "I need to… tell you…" he trailed off again as his head spun and his vision blurred while his wound blazed with fiery pain.

Triela jumped out once more, and squeezed the trigger of her pistol five times. On the third pull, the slide didn't go back, and on the fourth and fifth Triela was treated to terrifyingly empty _clicks_. Instead of deftly crouching back behind the engine, Triela fell to her knees in despair, gazing in stupid confusion at the empty gun in her hand. Her heart pounded painfully, and the blood in her hears drowned out every other sound around her, including Hilshire's delirious pleading, as if there was a giant drum being hammered angrily in her head. Triela's chest was lit up in an inferno, and she was breathing hard, as if she had spent ten minutes underwater without a breathing apparatus. She was experiencing soldier's heart.

Suddenly, one of the gunmen cried out in panicked fear and an instant later an explosion rocked the surrounding area, mutilating those closest to its origin, critically wounding the ones behind them, and scattering all who were intact enough to run.

Triela instinctively ducked down at the sound of the explosion, then peeked her head out slightly, only to bring it down again when another grenade went off. Triela dared one more time to look out over the now smoking engine, just as one of the assassins had his head torn apart by a sniper round. Triela saw a blond girl lying prone on top of a van parked down the road behind the assassins' roadblock. She was toting a Dragunov SVD. At least that's what Triela assumed she was using, as the SVD had practically become an extra limb for Rico, who used it with as much precision as if it _were_ another part of her body.

Then Triela noticed two figures materializing from both ends of the roadblock. Unfortunately for them, the assassins did not.

One of the figures was a small, mousy-haired girl with deep brown eyes. She was wearing a blue cardigan, blue skirt, expensive leather boots, and knee-high stockings. In her hands the girl cradled an FN P90. Henrietta crouched down behind the engine of the front van, raised her weapon, and let loose several bursts that struck down a handful of the oblivious assassins.

At the other end of the roadblock, taking cover behind the rear of the back van was a raven-haired girl wearing a black dress and black shoes. A white ribbon ran through the hair on the top of her head, and she clinched a Steyr AUG A1 in her arms. As soon as Henrietta opened fire and attracted the attention of the assassins on Angelica's side of the road, the latter ended the conflict immediately with a few sweeps of her rifle.

After the last spent shell hit the pavement, there was nothing but silence. Then, three unseen men could be heard barking orders. They revealed themselves, taking to the sides of their cyborgs. Jean with dark hair and kind, honest features stood by Henrietta, patting her head and praising her. His brother Jean who had blond hair, and serious, commanding features was accompanied by Rico, who surveyed the area critically, in case any danger that had not been stamped out decided to show itself. Finally, Marco with his round, grim, stony face summoned Angelica beside him, who obeyed immediately, took an order from him, and then began to examine the bodies of the assassins. The others were soon told to do the same.

The appearance of the other cyborgs had a kind of miraculous effect on Triela. Without even realizing it, her heartbeat and pulse had slowed to near normality, she was regaining her energy, and the blood no longer pounded in her ears. With her rationality returning, Triela draped Hilshire's arm over her shoulders and supported his stumbling way toward their support team. As she approached the other handlers, Jean and Marco stepped forward, relieving Triela's burden and taking Hilshire to the awaiting van. Jose stayed behind to keep an eye on the cyborgs.

Once Jean and Marco loaded Hilshire into their vehicle, Jose approached Triela with a concerned look on his face. "Are you two alright," he asked worriedly, "You both look like Hell."

Triela let out a shaky sigh and answered a bit unsteadily, "I'm going to be fine, but Hilshire's lost a lot of blood. You cut it really close, Jose; I only had two rounds left." She produced the bullets from her pocket and showed them to him.

Jose curiously noted from where Triela had recovered the bullets, but before he could comment, Henrietta approached him and reported in her shy, quiet way, "One of the assassins is alive, Jose."

She led him to a still masked figure, breathing harshly and sprawled against one of his vans. Jose approached the man and ripped the balaclava from his face to reveal a dark-skinned head with a large, rounded forehead, a military crew-cut, and harsh, angry features. Although the assassin was dazed, his eyes were darting from face to face in defiance.

Jose gripped the jaw of the wounded man and forced him to make eye contact. While nobody could hold their own in a stare-down with Jean Croce, Jose on the other hand was far too naturally kindhearted to produce the same effect of terror from detainees. He tried to get answers from the assassin, despite this weakness. "Did Padania send you," he questioned coolly and firmly.

In reply, the gunman slapped Jose's hand away from his face and began yelling and cursing in a language that was unfamiliar to the present company. His sudden, aggressive movements caused the four cyborgs to reflexively level their weapons at him, even Triela whose gun was empty. Regardless of this, the assassin continued to shout and swear vehemently.

Jose seized the man's arm, hauled him up, and then began to drag him toward the van. Surely someone at the Agency would be able to translate what the prisoner was saying.

The four young girls followed behind him. Rico looked confused and contemplated aloud, "I wonder what's going on?"

Triela muttered wearily, "Whatever it is, it can't be good."

"Why do you think that," Henrietta questioned.

"I don't know," Triela sighed distantly, "But foreign operatives can only lead to foreign problems."

"At least they won't be _our_ problems," Angelica commented, "I don't think the Agency involves themselves in international affairs."

_Let's hope not_, Triela said inwardly to herself. She had lost the energy to talk. Or maybe just the motivation. She couldn't tell.

She got into the back of the van along with Jean and Marco who were watching over the prisoner as well as the unconscious Hilshire. Jose was in the driver's seat with Henrietta as passenger. Triela glared at the assassin and allowed her mind to wander and wonder at the strange events that had been happening to Section Two in the past months.

Then she realized that she was still clutching her final two bullets. She wordlessly removed the magazine from her P7M8, placed the bullets into it, slid the magazine into the gun, and racked the slide.

Jean watched her intently due to his natural suspicion of the cyborgs. Triela holstered her pistol and answered his stare by saying, "I'm just getting ready for my next mission, sir." She wasn't lying.


	3. New Rules

Chapter 3: New Rules

Jean, Jose, Marco, Alessandro, and Hilshire were called upon and gathered in Chief Lorenzo's office to attend a mission briefing. The firefight on the countryside road had happened a week ago, and Hilshire had healed almost completely since his wounds had been superficial. He still had to be careful, though, lest his stitches break.

The five handlers lounged around and chatted for some time, mostly about how much trouble Section Two had fallen in recently. The were hurting badly for funds and as a result, they couldn't afford to produce new cyborgs, develop new cybernetic implants for the girls, or even to buy themselves supplies or little luxuries that they used to have. Priscilla was running low on her favorite sugary sweets and sodas, for example, and instead of the fine gourmet meals that they used to live on, the operatives of Section Two had to be content with living on military mess hall food. Long story short: budget cuts were eroding morale and reducing the importance of the Agency.

The worst part about this, however, was that the cause for this deterioration had so far eluded them. Section Two could find no way to explain the spike in Fratelli death rates, which were at the root of their problems. That is to say, they could find no explanations until now.

Chief Lorenzo of Section Two entered the room and immediately the handlers went silent. He wordlessly walked to his desk, unlocked one of its drawers with a key, and removed a large manila folder from it. He then took his seat behind his desk, folding his hands in front of him.

"As you know," the old Chief of Section Two began, "We have been struggling lately with financial issues, morality rates, and mission failure rates." He began to undo the seal on the folder next to him and continued, "You all know as well that these problems of ours have stemmed from some mysterious source, and up until now this source has escaped our detection. However, thanks to the intelligence we've been compiling over the past month, we have verified that this crisis is the fault of the Republican Faction."

Alessandro raised his hand, and at a nod from the Chief, interjected, "Sir, we've already extensively investigated Padania as the root of these matters, and the investigation ended up inconclusive."

Chief Lorenzo answered, "That has been our problem, Alessandro. Even though Padania is without a doubt behind these problems of ours, there would have been no evidence to be found against them in Italy." He paused to let this revelation sink in, "Hilshire, the man we captured from the hit-squad that attacked you last week spoke a language that none of us could understand. Thankfully, Marco here has had some experience in North Africa and was able to communicate with the assassin in the Kabyle language. Through our interrogation, we found out some… troubling things."

The Chief removed a stack of documents from the folder and handed them to Jean to be examined and passed around. As they did so, he continued, "The assassin revealed to us that he was part of a private military company originating in Algeria, and that his company was hired by Padania as muscle to use against us specifically."

Jose cut in, "Why would the RF hire Algerian mercs? What makes them any more effective against the Agency than Italian assassins?"

"The prisoner told us that his company had upwards of 50,000 soldiers," Lorenzo replied, "We believe that this figure is what attracts the Republican Faction. However, this Algerian PMC group, it turns out, is not our only problem. Only several days after Hilshire and Triela were attacked, Alessandro and Petrushka disarmed and dismantled a bomb that they found in their safehouse on their last mission. According to the tags on the bomb, it had been made in Novgorod, in Russia. Rico and Jean the next day were attacked in their sleep by assassins that had communicated to each other in Japanese. Unfortunately, these assassins would not allow themselves to be captured alive so we could not question them. Our Algerian mercenary, however, confirmed our worst fears."

The documents in the manila folder had been passed around the room completely, so the next few statements made by the Chief did not surprise them. This didn't keep them, though, from being greatly sobered and ominously silent. Padania had been conducting trades not only with the Algerian PMC known by a name that translates to "The Jackals", but they had also paid a group of Russian professionals to steadily supply them with high-powered firearms as well as bombs, and a Japanese syndicate of assassins based in the city of Yokohama that specialized in stealth, intelligence gathering, and close-range assassinations. With these combined resources, the Republican Faction was easily able to intercept any Fratelli that was deployed, and dispatch them with heavily armed mercenaries, secretive assassins, or bombs. This was clearly a winning combination for Padania. These resources made them unstoppable and there was no denying it.

The Chief voiced this last idea to the five handlers, then with grim conviction got down to the true business of the meeting. "We must," he said slowly and deliberately, "Cut Padania off from these new sources of power. And to do this, we must reach out beyond our jurisdiction, travel to these locations, find the base of operations for each of the organizations, and put an end to them one way or another."

At this, the handlers exchanged doubtful glances. They knew that going "beyond their jurisdiction" meant illegal operations that involved deniability. This meant that they would all be working alone without any aid in these missions, save for whatever local support they might be able to get. It also meant that smuggling weapons across the borders for later use would be the next closest thing to impossible. Essentially, they would be invading foreign countries with hostile intents and not carrying any weapons. Nevertheless, none of them stated these thoughts going through their heads, as they were loyal to Chief Lorenzo as well as to Section Two.

"Our plan," the Chief said, "Is to pair up your Fratelli and send them to one of these three locations. From there, I'm afraid you will be on your own to dismantle your enemy's establishments as you see fit. Unfortunately, we can't spare more than two cyborgs per location; since we are spread thin enough as it is. Jean, you and Alessandro are going to Yokohama. Jose and Hilshire, I want the two of you to take care of the Russian weapon manufacturers. Marco…"

As the Chief trailed off, Marco looked around and commented, "Sir, there are only five handlers here."

Lorenzo sighed deeply in preparation to deliver a revelation of enormous repercussions. Once amply prepared, the Chief gave Marco the news…

* * *

Triela, Henrietta, Rico, Angelica, and Petrushka were making their ways to the indoor shooting range, each carrying their assault weapons of choice: an M1897 Trench Shotgun, FN P90, SIG SG 551, Steyr AUG A1, and Spectre M4 respectively. With their handlers conferring with Chief Lorenzo for a meeting of some sort, the girls really had nothing to do, so they decided to get some training done without them, mostly in order to please them. As they walked, they chatted.

"Rico, I heard you and Jean were attacked on your last mission," Triela stated.

Rico nodded and replied, "Two assassins hid themselves in our hotel room and tried to kill us in our sleep."

"It must have been scary," Petrushka commented, "What happened?"

"One of them took a misstep and knocked over my MG3. Jean and I were able to take their knives away, but they escaped and threw themselves under a truck."

"Seriously?" Petra exclaimed incredulously, "Well, it sounds like you got really lucky there, Rico."

Rico nodded with a wordless smile, and then Henrietta asked, "Speaking of luck, Petra, didn't you and Alessandro find a bomb under your bed when you went to Ravenna?"

Petrushka answered laughingly, "Yes, it's true. I had lost my shoes and looked everywhere for them, and when I checked under my bed, I saw a blinking red light. Thankfully Sandro knew how to disarm it."

The girls neared the shooting range, and as they approached the door, they heard gunshots. "Huh," Angelica mused, "None of the others have returned from their missions yet. I wonder who's in there."

They entered the range and were greeted with a sight so alien and unfamiliar to them that none of the girls could be sure that what they were seeing was real. Their jaws dropped at the sight of their friend Claes, whose black hair was tied into a ponytail and hidden under a gray army cap. She wore cargo shorts and combat boots, and her dark, analytic eyes stared with deadly focus down the sight of her H&K VP70M. Her shoulder took the brunt of the recoil, thanks to the stock attachment, but she took it so well that she might as well have been pretending to shoot her gun. Claes' ever-present spectacles were nowhere to be seen, as they were hidden in one of the many pockets of her black combat vest.

With Claes were two stern-looking SWA operatives. Once Claes had finished her current magazine, she handed her weapon to one of these operatives, who reloaded it and handed it back to her, after which she would continue firing at the steel target.

Despite the passing of several years since Claes had last fired her weapon, she fired it now with such precision and skill that one might have thought the passage of time between then and now had simply been a single night prolonged to the given length. And, even though her proficiency had remained unchanged despite time, there was something new within young Claes. A sort of dull fire that burned within, but radiated without, and could be seen in the way she looked at her target, or the manner with which she pulled the trigger again and again…


	4. A Dog and Her Collar

**Of Innocence and Intellect**

Chapter 1: A Dog and Her Collar

Claes rubbed her temples irritably, adjusted her glasses, and tried once more to concentrate on reading, but it was no use. Her head ached and she was still experiencing flashbacks, though none of them were as immersive as the ones that she went through right after the hypnosis. Rather than being in a dreamlike state with no control, she saw flashes of images and heard snippets of conversations, nearly all of them with, or related to Raballo. Claes still wasn't completely sure if remembering was liberating for her or not. She just wished the headaches would go away. The stupid metal collar around her neck was of no help either.

She heard the door open quietly as Angelica stepped into the room. Briefly, before the door closed again, Claes smelled salt water, and heard the rolling of the waves and the calls of the gulls. Just more distractions for her already meandering mind.

"Claes," said Angelica shyly, nearly whispering, "Lunch is ready." Upon finding out what the Agency had done to Claes, Angelica began to treat her as she would a stranger. She didn't know that the Claes she knew was still very much present, just… slightly more agitated. After not getting a reply, Angie decided to keep trying. "Do you…" she nervously stuttered slightly, "Not want to eat?"

"Not right now Angelica," Claes answered unemotionally, "I'm reading." This last part was a lie of course since she couldn't concentrate, but Claes figured that if she could convince people to think she was busy they would leave her alone. It wasn't a very successful strategy, however, as either Angelica or Marco would enter her cabin once every few minutes, pretending to be there for a reason other than to check in on her. Claes didn't let them know this, but their paranoia was duly noted.

Angelica silently slipped out of the room without a word. Once again, Claes heard the waves and the gulls for another instant. Once the door _clicked_ shut, Claes redoubled her efforts to focus.

* * *

Marco stooped over his desk reading both the personal and professional history of the girl formerly known as Fleda Claes Johansson. He did the same for Angelica when he first adopted her, and saw it as a necessity if he would be working with Claes, especially now that her old memories of her former handler, Raballo had been resurrected along with her skills as an assassin. In order to do this, the Agency implemented a method of hypnosis commonly used to bring back memories of abuse that have been blocked from one's mind. Claes' combat skills returned as well simply because in her mind, only a day or so had passed since the time her memory was wiped. Everything in between was a dream as far as she was concerned.

Chief Lorenzo had reassured Marco over and over again that the Agency had taken appropriate precautions when bringing Claes' memories back to her, but no matter how many times the Chief repeated himself, Marco just couldn't bring himself to feel comfortable. Despite the fact that they had purposefully corrupted Claes' conditioning in order to give her the sensation of excruciating pain whenever she disobeyed an order, _and_ despite fitting her with a shock collar for Marco's use, he still found himself watching her constantly. Marco asked many times over why the Agency couldn't have paired him with one of the new generation cyborgs for Operation Far-Flung, but Chief Lorenzo simply said that the new gen girls were still in the experimental stage and that Claes' cool and adaptive nature would be indispensible in Algeria.

Marco's problem was not with Claes herself, as he inwardly respected her for her tenacity and dedication to the other girls. Often he would see Angelica crying with Claes quietly soothing her. No, Marco's problem was that Claes was very intelligent and now remembers that Jean had told her all those years ago that Raballo was killed in a car accident. If she couldn't tell this was a lie, then the hypnosis had probably inflicted unforeseen damage to Claes' brain.

As Marco scanned through mission report after mission report written by Raballo, he couldn't help but feel a creeping feeling of dread. In the short time that she was active, Claes had amassed a very impressive body count with a wide variety of missions. She had proven herself to not only to be an effective assassin, but also an excellent bodyguard, covert operative, support operative, and sharpshooter. Her success rate alone could have told him the whole story. The Claes-Raballo Fratello had not failed a single mission during their service. Marco assumed that the handler's expertly executed command, coupled with Claes' mechanical efficiency were to be thanked.

Just as Marco felt he couldn't take reading up on his new charge's success story, his original charge entered the room. "Claes is still reading, sir," Angelica reported, "I really don't think she's done anything else since we set off."

"All the same," Marco replied, "I still want to keep an eye on her. She _could_ still be the same Claes that you know, but she could just as easily be changed by her hypnosis."

Angelica nodded in false understanding. She couldn't quite comprehend how this was possible. The Claes she knew _did_ read this much. The Claes she new _did_ talk this little. Could putting a gun in her hand really change her as radically as Marco believed? It didn't change Angelica when _she_ held one. Ironically, though, this was untrue, as Angelica often became a lot sharper and merciless with a gun in her hand. Without one, though, she couldn't even bring herself to go fishing, or to catch butterflies for fear of hurting them.

Angie decided to change the subject and asked Marco, "Are we going to reach Algeria soon?"

"We should be arriving in port early tomorrow," he answered, "In some respects, we were lucky to have gotten this mission. I've got some pull with most of the armed forces here, and more likely than not we can pay off the port officials and keep the weapons that we're transporting." The weapons that Marco was talking about were actually an impressive arsenal being kept below the hold of their ship. This miniature armory of theirs contained not only the preferred weapons of the cyborgs, but also a number of powerful bombs, rocket-propelled grenades, satchel charges, and various other explosives that would be useful in assaulting the Jackals' base of operations.

"These supplies are absolute necessities," Marco explained to Angelica, "Attacking a mercenary base, especially one as large as the one we're going to tackle, is a feat that either requires a lot of explosives, or a lot of armed personnel. That's where my influence with the other merc groups and the military come in. With their help, we'll have both the explosives _and_ the manpower necessary to take out the Jackals and their ringleader."

"Marco," Angelica asked a question that had itched at her mind ever since she was briefed on this mission, "How do you know so much about Algeria and its mercenary groups?"

Marco answered in too much of a matter-of-factly tone, "I took a trip there in the mid 90's and had a hand in the civil war that was taking place at the time."

This came as quite a surprise to Angelica. She had always thought Marco to be a straightforward, honest military man. She couldn't imagine him getting involved in anything as shady as a civil war, especially one in Africa. She recalled bits of information that Claes had given her about wars in Africa several months ago when she had been reading a book about the civil war in Sierra Leone. "I've noticed a trend," Claes had said, "That violence in Africa tends to be multiplied by a thousand when compared to violence in Italy. Or maybe I'm just biased. Either way, it's an interesting concept. We should investigate it someday." Angelica could have chewed the irony like bubblegum.

"It's important to remember," Marco continued, "That even though Algeria is now in the process of improving itself, the civil war caused several mercenary groups to emerge. These mercenaries are not to be trifled with either, because they know what they're doing. They're better armed than most African guerilla forces and they know how to stay out of the spotlight."

"Do you think," Angelica posed another troubling question, "That with the help of other mercenaries we can defeat the Jackals? After all, we've never had to deal with 50,000 people all at once."

Marco sighed, a sign that this thought had crossed his mind as well, and then responded, "It will take a while. We won't be able to eliminate all of them in one day. Expect to be fighting for a week at the very least."

At this, Angelica began to look concerned and a bit frightened, as she tended to when given a mission with a large number of targets or objectives. This time, however, it was a little more extreme than that. It wasn't often that this happened to Angelica, but thoughts of death crossed her mind, and inevitably, thoughts of life. If she died, what would happen to her, or to Marco? If Marco died, but she lived, what would she do? If they all lived, where do they go from here? Were they expected to just go back to Italy and pick up where they left off?

Then, images of the other girls flashed through her mind: Henrietta sowing, Triela tying a bow for her teddy bear, and Petrushka putting makeup on Rico. Would she ever see these things again? Another image flashed before her eyes. Claes lying on the top bunk in her room wearing her glasses, listening to Beethoven through an ear bud with her head bobbing slightly, and kicking her legs up and down in perfect serenity. Would Angelica ever see _that_ again?

Marco noticed the worried look on his cyborg's face and decided to display a rare show of affection. He got up from his desk, placed a hand on his cyborg's shoulder and said reassuringly, "Angie, I know you're worried, and I know you're not used to this kind of combat. We're essentially fighting a war, and you cyborgs were _not_ designed or trained to fight wars. Despite all of this, I'm sure you can pull through. We can't quite use the same tactics as when we fight Padania, but the basic principles are just the same." The girl began to brighten up, but just a bit, so Marco added with a slight, uncharacteristic smile, "I promise I'll take care of you. It's the least I can do in return for your taking care of me for so long."

Angelica finally smiled with her mind at ease and certain of her safety. They were going to make it. All of them.

* * *

In her room, Claes scowled angrily as she ran a finger underneath the irritating shock collar. The book she had been reading lay open on the floor against the wall that she had thrown it against…


	5. Preemptive Strike

Chapter 2: Preemptive Strike

The next day, Marco's ship caught sight of land when they were spotted by Algerian naval forces, which stopped the ship and boarded it with their guns drawn, yelling and bellowing orders in Arabic and French. Marco, in order to stop the boarders from investigating the hold and confiscating their weapons, located the commanding officer and engaged him in a quiet, confidential conversation. As they talked, the C.O. became increasingly relaxed and looked less and less stern, until eventually he ordered his troops to stop their search and return to their own ship. Claes couldn't help but notice that as Marco and the Algerian officer shook hands, the former slipped the latter a stack of money.

Later, while in port in the capital city of Algiers, Marco bribed three more officials in a similar manner. Clearly he had come prepared. He needed to be too, for if the government caught him transporting bombs in this city, there would likely be no questions whatsoever. They would probably skip to kneecapping him and dragging him to jail where they would question him and starve him to death. Knowing, this, Claes was genuinely impressed with Marco's skill at greasing wheels.

The port officials had given Marco clearance to take port in a warehouse where he could privately unload his cargo into a number of trucks that he made sure had canvas coverings. Once all of the guns, ammunition, and explosives had been offloaded, Marco summoned Claes and Angelica to him to confer with them about their current objective.

"I know a place," he said quietly to ensure he wasn't overheard, "In the Bab el-Oued district that we can use to store all of our supplies. The district itself was used during the civil war by the Islamic Salvation Front. The building that we'll be using is completely safe and defensible with a connection to the sewer system in case of an emergency." He looked around briefly to ensure nobody else was within earshot, and then said to the cyborgs, "We need to be especially careful right now. There's a good chance that the Jackals have been informed of our arrival and our intentions by Padania. If they can find out where a Fratello is travelling within Italy, they're sure to take notice when five of them have left the country. That's why I need you, Claes in the front truck with me, and you, Angelica riding in the rear truck to keep an eye out for tails. We need to make sure we're not followed to our destination; otherwise this entire mission will have been jeopardized. Do you both understand?"

Angelica nodded with a quiet, "Yes, sir."

Claes nodded with a grave, "Affirmative."

The two cyborgs got into their assigned trucks, and after Marco strolled up and down the harbor and scouted out the street outside of it, the disturbingly conspicuous convoy of transport vehicles set off. They headed north from the harbor, along the Rue de Beziers through the suburban Hussein Dey district.

"So far so good," Marco said to himself. He pulled out a two-way radio and spoke through it. "How does everything look back there Angie?"

Angelica sat in the bed of the rear truck, hiding herself behind the stacks of crates. She answered Marco's call with a radio of her own. "I'm not noticing any suspicious behavior, sir. There aren't a lot of vehicles out there right now."

_That alone is suspicious_, Marco thought to himself. He radioed in, "Keep your eyes peeled, I want you updating me on every car that gets within ten feet of our convoy."

"Roger," Angelica replied, "Will comply."

As they drove, Marco noticed Claes' eyes darting back and forth, looking at every vehicle within sight, assessing their potential threat levels. Her face reflected absolute concentration on the task at hand and because of this, nothing escaped her scrutiny. Every vehicle parked by the road was perceived by Claes as a threat, and every time the convoy was forced to stop, any nearby locals were considered potential hostiles. Watching her now, one would think that she was paralyzed from the neck down, as the only parts of her body that moved were her head and eyes. The rest of her was tense like a stretched spring, and in fact Claes was ready to spring into action. Though where she would spring to was a question to be considered, as she was confined to the truck due to Marco's orders.

_This girl's cold as ice_, Marco noted in his head, _With about as much emotion_. He considered engaging her in conversation for a moment, but decided not to tamper with her concentration.

Just then, Angelica reported in, sounding somewhat concerned. "Sir," she said, "A black SUV just rounded a corner and is currently behind our convoy. I don't know yet whether it's a threat, but it looks suspicious to me."

Marco responded, "Keep an eye on him; I'll turn left into the Rue Bab Azoun. Tell me what he does."

Marco and the convoy turned left just as he said, and the SUV passed on. Angelica reported this to him, "Marco, the car's moved on. It was a false alarm."

"That's alright Angie," Marco said, "You're doing alright. Keep-"

"Marco, look out!" Claes yelled in alarm as an armored jeep barreled out of an alleyway and rammed their truck. This sent the Marco's vehicle off the street and forced it through the wall of a small restaurant. The people inside immediately fled in fright through the back of the building or through any windows they could find.

Three more mercenary jeeps rammed the other trucks of the convoy, sending them off-course and disabling them. To ensure that they wouldn't be able to escape, the Jackals parked even more vehicles at both ends of the convoy. Heavily armed mercenaries poured out of their cars and opened fire on anyone who tried to escape from the trucks.

Marco rubbed his head in pain which had slammed into the steering wheel when the truck hit the wall. He shook off the daze he was in and shot orders to Claes, who had been doing the same. "Out of the truck," he commanded, "We have to draw the fire away from our drivers!"

Claes immediately obeyed, jumping out of the debris-covered vehicle. She reached for her VP70M, but found that she didn't have it. Marco, due to his paranoia, had taken Claes' gun from her for safety, but permitted her to carry the ammunition for it when the time came when he would need to give her the weapon. "Gun!" she yelled to Marco, who drew the pistol out of a back holster and tossed it to her. She caught it, switched the safety off and pressed herself up behind the part of the restaurant wall that had not crumbled. Claes found that the side mirror of their truck had fallen off and was lying on the ground next to her. She picked it up and used it to peek around the corner, immediately identifying five hostiles wearing camouflage and combat boots in her line of sight. They were slowly advancing on the truck with raised weapons. The foremost man carried a short, strange weapon with a rectangular stock. The barrel of the gun, however, identified it as a shotgun due to its visible pump.

Claes had seen this firearm a few times before, but only in books or pictures. It was a NeoStead 2000 pump-action shotgun. Two other men behind the shotgunner carried RPK rifles, and the other three were using small, Mac-10 machine pistols.

Claes decided that she would have a better chance against the mercenaries if she somehow managed to obtain one of their weapons, and so, she put down the mirror and waited for the man on point to pass her cover. The moment he did, she snatched his collar and flung him against the adjacent wall, simultaneously sticking her VP70M around the corner and firing blindly, forcing the pointman's squadmates to retreat in order to avoid her shots. Before the shotgunner could recover, Claes pinned his weapon against the wall, placed her pistol under his chin and fired a single round, killing him immediately. She quickly picked up his fallen gun and aimed at the corner, just as one of the rifle-wielding mercenaries was rounding it. Claes pulled the trigger, buckshot spraying him and the truck behind him. As the man fell and another came, Claes pumped the shotgun forward then back, aimed and fired another shot, closing in on the corner at the same time.

Once again, she pressed up against the wall, but instead of using the mirror, she simply jumped out of cover and fired, hardly aiming. Her third shot killed two more mercenaries, and her fourth finished off the squad. Claes cautiously emerged from the restaurant to confirm that she had eliminated all of the hostiles in her area, and then abandoned the NS2000 for one of the rifles. She felt safer with its 75-round drum magazine.

On the other side of the street, Marco had killed a handful of mercenaries using his SIG Sauer P226 Tactical pistol as he moved down the street, making sure he kept himself in between the stalled convoy and the buildings nearby at all times. The last thing he wanted was to be caught off-guard or without cover.

He moved in the opposite direction that the trucks were facing, trying to reach the rear truck where he knew Angelica was when the jeeps hit. The promise he made to her was only a day old, and Marco would not be able to live with himself if he failed to keep it. In a matter of minutes, however, among the RPK and SMG fire, Marco could hear what he believed was a Steyr AUG firing. He hoped that he had heard its sound enough to be able to identify it now.

Once he reached the bed of the back truck, Marco's hopes were confirmed by the sight of a pile of dead mercenaries, lying at the opening of the bed. He didn't walk around to it yet, however. "Angelica," he called to ensure she didn't mistakenly fire upon him.

The small voice, made strangely stern by combat, answered, "Friendly, holding fire."

As Marco walked around to the bed of the truck, he encountered a group of mercenaries hiding in an alley way adjacent to the convoy. Immediately, they wildly opened fire, sending him stumbling back behind the truck. The canvas of the bed was shot full of holes, and he heard Angelica cry out, either in panic or pain. Marco sincerely hopped it was the former.

With a mixture of worry and rage, Marco called out, "Angelica!" He flew round the back of the truck which was still being hit by enemy fire in order to face the mercenaries head-on. Just as he was beginning to realize how much of an idiotic idea this was, he was saved by Claes, who swept her RPK back and forth across the hostiles, holding the trigger down the whole time. They each fell at the hands of the one-girl firing squad.

After this, all sounds of combat ceased, and in a few seconds the survivors in the other trucks had slowly emerged. Thankfully, they had each armed themselves before setting out.

Marco jumped into the bed of the rear truck and found Angelica crouched behind the now disheveled pile of crates. She was shaken up, but very much alive and very much unharmed. At the appearance of her handler, she stood, picking her rifle up in an attempt to regain her dignity. Angelica fully expected a harsh rebuke from Marco, but instead, he crouched down to her level on one knee, looked her in the eye and asked if she was okay. At her nod, the handler turned around and jumped out of the truck to assess the damage. Angie stood in her place for a moment, confused about the change that had taken place within Marco ever since he had accepted this mission. She couldn't decide whether she liked it or not. On one hand, he was treating her in the way that she had always wanted and aspired to earn. On the other, she missed the tactical appraisals that Marco used to give her, never mind that they were usually given in anger or impatience.

As Marco hopped out of the truck bed, he heard Claes call, "Marco!" She stood in the middle of the street near the final group of mercenaries that she had killed, the RPK that she had wielded in the fight leaning nonchalantly across her shoulder. She pointed down the street past the jeep roadblock where a group of police cars and squad transport trucks carrying more heavily armed task forces headed their way. Their sirens preceded them long before they had come in sight, blaring and wailing loudly. "I hope you've got enough on you to bribe _them_," Claes muttered to Marco.


	6. A Little Help

Chapter 3: A Little Help

As it turned out, Marco needed neither a bribe, nor his skills of diplomacy and intimidation when confronting the local police officers. Once the squad of police vehicles arrived at the scene of the firefight, a heavyset, uniformed local man with a beaming face and large, shining white teeth hopped out of the foremost vehicle and approached the stopped convoy with a lighthearted, springy step.

As the man neared, Marco's face lit up in recognition, and, holstering his weapon, walked toward him with a similar grinning expression on his face. When they met, they warmly clasped hands and threw their arms across each other's shoulders, laughing.

At the same time, Angelica emerged from the truck bed carrying her AUG. Claes had had the foresight to throw her weapon away before the police arrived, but Angelica did not. At her appearance, the policemen scrambled to take cover or to draw their guns. They all took aim, yelling in French and Arabic exactly as the naval officers earlier that day had done. At this, Angie froze up in fear.

Claes slowly reached for her pistol which was tucked into the holster hidden behind her. She stopped, however, when the man embracing Marco turned and began shouting orders to his men. The excited and elated look on his face was replaced with a stern, commanding expression. "Hold your fire," he yelled in Arabic, "These are our friends." Immediately, each man stopped roaring and obeyed, pointing their weapons anywhere except at Angelica. Claes took note of this, realizing that the man that seemed so familiar with Marco must have had the highest rank in the group.

The apparent commanding officer turned back to his Italian friend, the joyful expression returning to his face. He grasped Marco's shoulders with both hands and, holding him out in front of him, said "Marco, old friend, it has been too long since we last met!"

Marco replied brightly, "It has indeed, Hadi." He then took the man and turned him to face Claes and Angelica (who had inched slowly and cautiously toward her friend after the policemen had lowered their weapons) and told them, "Girls, this is Hadi al-Haidar. He's an old friend from the war, and apparently, he's a police captain now as well."

Both of the cyborgs received Hadi uncertainly. Claes nodded in acknowledgement and Angelica waved nervously. However, the man himself broke free form Marco's hold, approached the girls, crouched on a knee, and hugged them both warmly, as if they were old friends from the war as well.

"Marco," he exclaimed excitedly once he released the cyborgs, "You have two beautiful young daughters. By the look of their weapons, it appears that they have inherited their father's skills as a soldier as well."

At this, Marco's face turned grim. "Hadi," he said earnestly, "We need to talk. In private."

The friendly captain seemed not to notice his comrade's sudden change in demeanor and led the handler and two cyborgs to one of the transport vans that some of his men had arrived in. He made sure that the officers were preoccupied with questioning the surviving truck drivers or extracting evidence from the scene of the fight. Once he was sure no one would notice Hadi entered the armored van, motioning for the other three to do the same. Once inside, he sighed and began speaking in French, "My friend, you seem troubled, but not in the way one usually is after being attacked in such a fashion as this. I have a feeling that it is not this incident that is bothering you."

Marco nodded assent and began to tell his friend the truth. "Hadi," he said soberly, "I'm not here for a vacation. This isn't some innocent trip."

Marco was cut off as Hadi laughed uncontrollably, rocking from side to side due to his cackling. Once he regained some control, Hadi wiped tears from his eyes and replied, "Marco, I think that goes without saying. The Jackals do not attack a man without reason. However, why you have brought your daughters into such danger, I do not know, and frankly, my friend, it was not a very wise decision for you."

"That's the next thing I wanted to talk to you about," Marco continued without a hint of humor in his voice, "These are not my daughters." He motioned to the girls as he said this. Hadi looked puzzled, but he did not interrupt this time, so Marco continued, "These girls are soldiers from Italy-"

Now Hadi interrupted by suddenly exclaiming, "I think your government is drafting them a bit too young, do you not think so my friend?" He then burst into more irrepressible hooting.

Marco politely waited until his companion regained his control, but it was obvious that his patience was running thin. Once Hadi was ready, Marco continued, "These girls have been enhanced with cybernetic implants and employed by the government to combat terrorism." He paused to let this sink in, but Hadi did not look at all surprised.

"Marco," he said, slightly more earnestly than before, "There are children in this continent for which combat and warfare are a daily presence. I have seen human beings perform acts of such atrocity to others that I cannot even begin to describe them. The idea of children killing others may be odd to an Italian man, but not to an African one."

Marco hesitated for a moment and then decided to nod in solemn acknowledgement. He continued, "We have been sent by our Agency to combat the Jackals because they have been providing an Italian terrorist group with soldiers to use against us. It is for this reason that I come to you, asking for help. I need you and your police force to aid us against this mercenary group."

At this, Hadi hung his head somberly and answered, "Marco, I am afraid that the terrorist group which you speak of has provided the Jackals with such wealth that the majority of the police forces in Algeria are under their influence. I am one of the few exceptions, and to be honest, it is a miracle that the Jackals have not killed me yet among the countless of my men that they have slaughtered. They are a menace to this country, a plague on this land. The Jackals are a disgrace to our people. Believe me when I say that if there was any way for me to get rid of them, I would. At this moment, however, I am afraid that what you ask of me is an impossibility."

Claes, who was tired of sitting doing nothing and afraid that they would be denied support which they sorely needed if they were to return to Italy alive, replied to Hadi's speech without Marco's consent. "Sir," she said as a true soldier would, "If you provide us with your support then you need not worry about the Jackals. In the trucks, you will find a large supply of weapons that we are willing to share out as long as they are put to use against the mercenaries. We have guns, ammunition, bombs-"

Marco cut her off, commanding harshly and angrily, "Silence Claes, your job is to fight, not convince others to do so."

Claes, however, did not immediately obey. She shot Marco a defiant look, and slowly took her seat again. Angelica tried her best to shrink herself. The tension in the van was too much for her. Usually if she was this stressed, she could simply shoot the source and end it immediately. Unfortunately for Angie, this was an exception.

Marco was about to give Hadi an apology for Claes' outburst, but Hadi raised a hand to stop him and spoke, "Marco, you should not treat a subordinate so harshly. She is only trying to help you, and besides that, she speaks beautiful French. It is sweet to my ears to hear such a voice. However, if what she says is true, then perhaps we _do_ have a chance against the Jackals. One of our main obstacles in dealing with them has been their superior weaponry. They often attack and raid military armories, leaving us with nothing. Maybe with your help and your armaments we can put up a decent fight against them, perhaps even wiping them out once and for all."

Marco blinked in surprise and said, "Really? That's all it takes? We don't have a lot."

Hadi nodded with a slight smile and said, "I am sure it is enough."

"The Jackals have a lot of soldiers."

"I am sure we can handle them. With your help of course."

Marco beamed and answered, "Of course." He then shook Hadi's hand gratefully and the two men walked out of the van, discussing their plans.

Before they got out of earshot, Angelica overheard the pair say something about enlisting help from another mercenary group. However, she missed whatever else her handler and his friend said, because at that moment Claes turned to her and asked in outrage, "Can you believe that? Not even a little 'thank you.'"

"I-I'm sorry?" Angelica stammered. She had completely forgotten Claes was there. She had been that quiet.

Claes gave up, rolling her eyes, folding her arms and shaking her head. "Forget it," she said in exasperation.


	7. A Little Gratitude

Chapter 4: A Little Gratitude

Several hours later, Marco and the two cyborgs were back in their trucks, leading the convoy south of Algiers. Hadi had offered several of his men to replace the drivers killed in the battle with the Jackals, and Marco had sent two out of the seven trucks to be taken to Hadi's station for their use.

As the convoy traveled south, the climate became harsher. In Algiers, the girls could feel a light breeze from the Mediterranean that reminded them somewhat of Italy. Besides that, it was November, and so the hottest weather was yet to be felt. However, Marco was taking them to a city called Ghardaia which was in M'zab just on the outskirts of the Grand Erg Occidental, an uninhabitable Saharan region. Actually, to be exact, he was heading a bit farther into the erg, several miles west of Ghardaia itself. Somewhere in this area was the headquarters of a tenacious and notorious mercenary group called the Desert Children, and according to Marco, their leader was another one of his war comrades.

As the five trucks barreled across the burning, barren erg, Claes watched the rocks, pebbles, and dunes go by with little interest. The only thing on her mind was getting out of the heat. Despite the air conditioning in the truck, and the fan that she had fashioned out of a document given to them by one of the port officials, Claes could not shake the feeling that she had somehow melted into the seat of the truck. She wasn't sure if she would be able to get out of it, even if she tried. As a result, she was feeling slightly more irritable than usual, which was quite an intimidating idea since her temper had skyrocketed ever since she woke up in Dr. Bianchi's office with all of her lost memories reacquired.

On the other hand, Angelica, who was once again in the bed of the rear truck among the crates of weapons and ammunition, was fascinated by all of the sights that went by. She had never seen a desert before, save for pictures in her geography text books, and, because of common knowledge, she knew that the climates in deserts were harsh. However, the books would never have prepared her for the searing waves of heat that pervaded the erg, which was just bearable for Angelica because the truck bed had more breathing room than Claes' passenger seat, plus she could move around and stick her head out of the back of the truck to get a little breeze. For some reason, she also found the desert to be beautiful and relaxing. The heat caused the air to shimmer and distort everything in the distance, and the quiet solitude of it all appealed to her.

As the convoy progressed deeper into the desert, Marco eventually spotted a number of dark shimmering objects on the horizon. As he drove closer the objects could be discerned as a settlement of considerable size. The majority of the settlement was made up of tents surrounding a crude and flimsy building in the center that seemed to be made of metal sheets bolted onto light wooden beams. As the distance closed, Marco and Claes began hearing the sound of gunshots. What started as small _pops_ quickly increased in noise and force into the unmistakable sound of small arms fire.

Soon, Claes could make out the sight of figures scurrying about. She noticed that the gunfire had stopped, and came to the conclusion that the residents of this settlement had spotted the convoy and were now taking cover in preparation for a fight. "Should I have my gun?" she asked Marco with a tone that obviously questioned the idea of his possessing her weapon.

Marco replied, "No. That wouldn't be a good idea on our part, since they would probably open fire without letting us talk first. We're here to negotiate, not die."

Claes shrugged and continued to stare dismally out of the window. She privately felt concerned, because if the people of this settlement decided to start shooting, Marco had just given her orders could possible prevent her from defending herself. She and Marco would have to find time to talk about the hampering of her freedom to survive.

Once they were within several dozen meters of the settlement, the convoy slowed down, and at this, a man dressed in loose garbs stepped out and began to bark loud orders to the drivers. He wanted them to stop their vehicles, exit, and walk backwards toward him with their hands behind their heads.

Claes scoffed at the man's many demands and was about to make a smart comment to Marco protesting the orders given to them. However, before she could make her statement, Marco unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the car with his hands up. He turned his back on the man giving orders and interlaced his fingers behind his head.

"What are you doing?!" Claes questioned incredulously. Marco could _not_ expect her to follow suit.

To her relief, however, Marco muttered, "Stay where you are, I'll talk to this guy and make sure he knows we're non-hostile."

Claes watched as Marco walked backwards slowly and cautiously toward the settlement. As he did, so, more people revealed themselves, each of them carrying one of a variety of guns, the majority of which looked to be rusty and in very poor condition. Some of the weapons, Claes noticed, also appeared to be outdated and obsolete models. She couldn't help but be reminded of a certain blonde-haired friend of hers. What troubled Claes most, however, was the fact that each of these people looked hostile and thirsty for blood. There was nobody in the group that was not currently aiming their gun at the intruder. There were even some children among their ranks who were just as heavily armed as anyone else in the compound.

When Marco reached the settlement, the man who had given them his demands conducted a search, patting him down for weapons. He took Marco's SIG and placed the gun underneath a sort of sash that he wore at the waist. When he had been given permission to lower his hands and turn around, Marco began his negotiation. Claes couldn't make out what was being said, but unlike the naval officers or port officials, these people did not constantly nod in agreement, or smile with understanding. The faces of the mercenaries remained stone cold and utterly blank.

Suddenly, the two-way radio on the dashboard crackled to life and Angelica's voice came through. She sounded clueless and frightened when she asked, "Marco, do you copy? What's going on?"

Claes picked the radio up and spoke into it. "Marco's talking with the mercs right now, Angie," she gave as an answer, "I can't be completely sure, but it doesn't look like he's doing a very good job."

As she said this, however, Marco turned to the convoy and motioned for everyone else to come out. Claes once again spoke into the radio, "Forget what I said, he wants us out of the trucks."

With much yelling in a number of different languages, all of the drivers and passengers exited their vehicles and walked toward the mercenary settlement. Claes waited for Angelica to get out of her truck bed, and the two made their way side by side to Marco.

"I've arranged to see the leader of the Desert Children," Marco told them confidentially, "His name is Faiz Junayd and he was one of my employers in Algeria. He's had the most experience in guerilla warfare of any person I know. We absolutely _need_ his help. If we don't get it, we might as well give up now, so please," he emphasized mostly to Claes, "Behave yourselves."

Marco proceeded to tell the cyborgs that he was going to consult with Junayd inside of the strange shack-like building and that they were welcome to go wherever they wanted as long as they stayed away from any of the Desert Children's weapons and supplies. After this, he entered the shack, leaving Claes and Angelica without a thing to do.

Neither of the girls were very interested in taking a tour of the settlement, even though it was alive with activity. Their drivers chatted with mercenaries about current events and news outside of the desert, but since neither Claes nor Angelica could offer either, nobody spoke to them. Some of the Desert Children practiced their marksmanship by shooting at sheets of metal cannibalized from cars and buses that they had attacked and raided. Others, mostly the younger ones, were running around playing games the goal of which the cyborgs could not identify. None of this interested the girls, though. It was all a bit too foreign for them.

Then, Claes noticed that a group of teenage mercenaries were laughing. Her eyes narrowed as she watched them a little longer to verify her suspicions. They looked at her as they talked, and then they laughed again. They were laughing at her.

Claes ground her teeth angrily. As if the heat wasn't enough to fuel her rage, her headaches had started up again and now a squad of juvenile guerilla soldiers was just begging for her to hurt them. Without thinking, she slowly took her glasses off of her face and placed them in one of the pockets of her cargo shorts.

Angelica saw this and knew what it meant. She followed Claes' line of sight and spotted the group of teenagers. Immediately, she caught a hold of her friend's arm and pleaded with her, "Claes please stay calm. If you lose your temper, Marco's friend could get angry and the mission would be jeopardized."

Claes, deaf with anger, did not listen and jerked her arm free of Angie's hold. She stomped her way toward the teenagers. They noticed her rage and laughed even more, but since they were speaking in a native language unfamiliar to Claes, she could not figure out what exactly they found so hilarious. When she reached the boys, she said coolly and dangerously in French, "I enjoy a good laugh. Care to share any?"

The boys laughed and the youngest one (who was obviously the one with the biggest mouth) said to his companions in French so that Claes could understand, "Listen to that! It is like hearing a small bird chirp! How could anyone take something like that seriously?" This statement was followed by even more hooting.

Claes took one menacing step forward, and immediately the boy who had mocked her stood and swung a blow. She wasn't expecting this, but her reflexes as a cyborg and trained assassin did not fail her. Besides this, the boy's punch could be seen from a mile away by any half competent fighter. Claes raised an arm, stopping the swing dead in its tracks, snatched the boy's wrist, and twisted it behind his back, simultaneously wrapping her arm around his throat as the his companions drew their guns.

The quick scuffle produced a profound silence in the mercenary compound during which Claes anticipated gunshots and pain. However, they never came, probably because she had placed the child mercenary between her and his friends. Her mind raced, trying to come up with her next course of action, but she couldn't think of one. Should she let the kid go? If she did that, his friends were sure to shoot her. If she held onto him for too long, though, the other mercenaries would take action anyway.

_Wait a minute…_ Claes blinked in confusion, unsure of how she had gotten into this situation. In fact, now that she thought about it, Claes wasn't exactly sure what caused her to react this way. She should have known better. She's _always_ known better. What does it matter if some Algerian desert urchin and his friends feel the need to make fun of her? Now that she was facing a dozen loaded gun barrels, their mockery of her seemed to lose all of its delusional significance. Claes felt as if she had seen a mirage and ran toward it only to have it disappear right before her eyes just as she steps into a pit of tar that pulls her underneath and drowns her.

As all of this happened, Angelica hesitated, and then decided that she needed to get Marco. However, she had waited too long, since surely someone amidst the perfect standstill would notice her running to the shack. Would they think that she was trying to initiate a fight using the orders of her superior? Whatever the mercenaries thought, Angelica would not be able to just run off without arousing undue suspicion.

Thankfully, neither of the cyborgs had to make any decisions that would cost anyone their lives, as a deep, commanding, booming voice bellow in Arabic, "STOP!"

All of the mercenaries in the compound immediately lowered their weapons and turned toward the central shack. There stood a tall and intimidating middle-aged man wearing an austere expression as he scanned the crowd that had condensed outside. As a result of long years in combat, the man's hair was prematurely grey, and his face was marked with frown lines, scowl lines, and a variety of other lines and wrinkles that were the products of the constant use of dour expressions. This was obviously Faiz Junayd, the father of the Desert Children.

Due to Junayd's presence, the silence in the compound transformed itself from one of anger and hostility, to a profound quiet made up of fear and dread. The man had a commanding aura, and one would only have to look into the face of a Desert Child in his presence to verify it.

While the majority of those present in the crowd had turned to face Faiz Junayd, Claes turned round and round, dragging her hostage around with her in an attempt to cover her flanks. Seeing this, the leader of the Desert Children raised his eyebrows and a hint of humor flashed through his eyes. "Getting yourself into trouble again, Sabri?" he asked rhetorically, widely projecting his voice.

Claes stopped rotating and looked toward the mercenary leader. She whispered to her hostage, "Sabri? Is that you?"

The boy nodded and one of his friends told Junayd nervously, "Sir, we were having an innocent conversation, and this girl attacked us without provocation."

"Oh?" Faiz said, "If this conversation of yours was so innocent, then why emphasize its innocence? Tell me, you were mocking this girl because she is a foreigner, were you not?"

The teenager who had spoken up cast his eyes to the ground and shamefully nodded assent. Lying would be futile at this point. Probably even dangerous.

Junayd sighed and said, "I had thought as much." He then looked around at the crowd once more and proclaimed in his booming voice, "Absolutely none of you are to harm or harass any of our guests, for their leader is a very old friend of mine. Is that understood?"

At this question, each of the humiliated mercenaries mumbled agreement in their local tongue. Claes decided that now was a good time to release the boy, Sabri. Once she did, he coughed several times to get air, and without a word at his captor, walked away to his group of friends. He did, however, shoot Claes a poisonous glance, to which she replied with a slight scowl, turning away from the boy. She turned right into Marco.

Angelica watched in fearful anticipation at how Claes was to be punished. She could not see the expression on Marco's face since he stood between Claes and herself, but Angie was certain he was furious. Angelica could not help but feel helpless, for there was nothing she could say to Marco to get him to forgive Claes.

However, to the surprise of the two cyborgs, Marco simply placed a hand on Claes' shoulder and stooped to her level. Angelica watched her handler say something to the other girl, but thanks to the distance that she placed between herself and the other two, coupled with the resumed noise in the mercenary compound, Angelica could not actually hear what was said. She was shocked to see, though, when Marco turned around and headed back into the shack that he was perfectly calm and wearing the same analytic military expression as he always did.

Claes remained rooted to her spot, dumbfounded for several seconds, and once she regained her senses, she made her way to Angelica, who asked her anxiously, "Claes, what happened?"

Claes was silent for a moment, still slightly confused about what Marco had told her. Finally, she replied to her friend, saying, "Marco says that Faiz Junayd agreed to help us fight the Jackals."

Angelica asked, "Even after what just happened? Why does he want to help us?"

"Marco told me," Claes answered slowly, "That Junayd admired my bravery in the face of a dozen armed soldiers, despite being unarmed."

Angelica's jaw dropped slightly and she scanned her friend's face for any emotion. However, all she could read from it was confusion and amazement.

This confusion was of such profound quality, that Claes could not manage to sound at all pleased when she added, "He _did_ thank me this time, though."


	8. Settling Down

Chapter 5: Settling Down

As the great burning sun of the Grand Erg Occidental set, Marco made the decision to abandon his original destination in Bab el-Oued and use the settlement of the Desert Children as his base of operations. Its isolation and lack of surrounding cover would remove all difficulty in repelling enemy attacks, and not only that, but the residents of the settlement were all fierce and fearless fighters who were experts in desert combat. Marco decided that the girls would need to have some exposure to these kinds of people and their methods if they were going to survive this mission.

As he walked into the tent that the Desert Children had allowed the cyborgs to use, Marco found Angelica cleaning and performing maintenance on her AUG with Claes lying on the opposite side of the tent, reading once again. He told them of his intent. "Tomorrow," he said, "We're going to begin your desert combat training. Don't expect it to be easy, though, as it will be drastically different from the urban environments that you are used to."

At this, Angelica looked up at Marco and nodded with a dutiful, "Yes, sir!"

Claes, on the other hand, simply gave a little grunt of acknowledgement.

Hearing this, Marco shook his head as he exited the tent. He wasn't at all satisfied with the lack of earnestness in the cyborgs' acknowledgements. They obviously weren't taking the desert seriously, and this could result in their deaths, or even the failure of the operation. Nevertheless, Marco shrugged off the girls' nonchalant attitude and was content with wandering around the mercenary settlement which was now steeped in darkness. He saw the stars perfectly for the first time in a long while, and with the disappearance of the sun the temperature in the erg was quickly dropping. Marco knew that it would be incredibly cold soon, as he was well acquainted with the duality of the desert. In the day it is hot enough to drive a person insane, but at night, the climate is the complete opposite, although it could produce the same effect.

Marco couldn't be too absorbed in the ways of nature, though, as he focused intently on the mission so far. In only a day he had enlisted the help of a police force and a mercenary group, in no small part thanks to Claes. Marco frowned as Chief Lorenzo's words to him about Claes reverberated through his head. The Chief had been right all along about her. Marco was almost tempted to give Claes more respect and trust, but decided against it. The last thing he needed was to make mistakes, and with the system the way it was now, she would not be in the way. Marco could not be sure if it would remain the same if he allowed her to carry her weapon or act on her own intuition. _That would be a last resort_, he thought to himself.

Everything was going by so fast so far, but without a doubt they would have to slow down as the girls learned to fight in this harsh and unfamiliar environment. Marco feared for the chances that the girls had of acclimatizing to the new terrain. It would be slow but crucial work. Truth be told, he would need the extra time to begin planning the battle plan against the Jackals. He doubted an open war would prove to be successful since the Jackals still greatly outnumbered the combined mercenary and police force. The only other plausible option would be to chip away at them by intercepting and eliminating their resources. Padania may be giving them the money, but the Jackals had to be getting their weapons from somewhere. Marco recalled that Hadi al-Haidar had told him the Jackals supplied themselves using military armories. If he could find these armories and provide them with a little more security, not only would he be able to eliminate Jackal raiding parties, but the Desert Children and Hadi's police force could gain access to even more weapons. Marco doubted several trucks would be enough to share out between everybody.

However, before he could plan the attack, Marco would have to gather intelligence. He still didn't know where the Jackal headquarters was or who led them. He decided that in order to find the necessary information he would have to put the girls into play, for despite their lack of experience in the country, they should, in theory, be able to gather information and interrogate detainees just like in Italy. This brought Marco's train of thought back to its original station, however, which was focusing on how to train the girls to fight in guerilla warfare. Marco sighed and muttered to himself, "I guess they'll just have to start anew." Honestly, he wasn't eager to see where this would go.

* * *

Back in the tent where Claes and Angelica planned to sleep, they continued their respective activities in absolute silence. Claes, however, scowled in annoyance as she found herself paying more attention to the sounds of Angelica's gun than to the words on the paper before her eyes. She decided not to speak out, though. Inwardly, Claes prayed to return back to normal, and to be able to read once again. That was all she really wanted. After leaving the Agency, it was all Raballo asked of her as well.

Claes had made a solemn promise to her old handler, but she found it hard to remain true to her path when her new mind was itching for her to pick up a gun and start dismantling and cleaning it, just as Angelica's was making her do. Or, perhaps this wasn't a _new_ mind per se, but her old one. The one that controlled her in between the fishing trips and hours of reading. Claes' scowled deepened…

* * *

At sunrise the next day, the girls were roused from their sleep by Marco, who led them to the section of the mercenary settlement that acted as the dining area, party place, and general meeting hall. Actually, a "hall" was not a completely appropriate description of the area. Strictly speaking, it was simply a section of the encampment where a number of wooden or plastic benches and tables had been set up underneath a tarpaulin that provided the diners with shade.

Upon seeing the mercenaries eating and drinking so heartily, it suddenly hit the girls that they had not eaten at all the day before, save for breakfast before they set off for Algeria. They had been too busy fighting for their lives and travelling from Algiers to the erg to get a bite to eat. Now that they noticed this, though, they suddenly felt unbelievably famished.

Marco, Angelica, and Claes wasted no time finding empty seats for themselves. As Angelica looked around at everyone else, though, she realized that she couldn't identify anything that the mercenaries were eating. Obviously they were dining on some kind of meat along with a sort of grainy substance, but there wasn't a store to be found nearby, or even any livestock.

Marco noticed her staring and clarified for her. "They're eating couscous," he said, "With the meat of indigenous desert reptiles. They can't raise livestock in this area, so they have to be content with living off of the land for the majority of their sustenance."

"Where do they get the dough for the couscous?" Claes asked.

Marco replied, "Either they go into Ghardaia and buy it with the little money they earn from time to time, or they simply attack and raid caravans or shipments of it."

Claes hissed through her teeth in disapproval and commented hotly, "These mercenaries are all barbarians. I can't believe we have to work with them."

Marco shot back harshly, "Well, you're just going to have to get used to it Claes. I trust Junayd's judgment as a leader and I am sure if there was any other way to provide for his men, he would choose it. Life out here, though, is harsh and you have to do anything within your power to survive."

Claes brushed off the rebuke and said defiantly, "I'm not going to eat food that was stolen from innocent civilians."

"You won't have to," Marco replied, "The lizard would probably make you sick. That's why I brought these along with our combat supplies." He produced from his military grade messenger bag two olive green pouches each of which had a lighter green dot sticker on the front.

"_Razione Viveri Speciale da Combattimento_?" Angelica said curiously. Special Combat Food Rations were the standard rations issued by the Italian Armed Forces and provided a person enough food to last them a single day. To add some variety, they also came in seven different "Modules" which were indicated by the color of the dot on the ration bag. The green dot on these bags showed them to be Module D rations.

"That's right," Marco said handing the bags to the girls, "You'll be eating these for the duration of our stay here in Algeria. We don't have time to get you acclimatized to the food as well as to the combat here."

Angelica and Claes accepted the bags doubtfully. They were used to eating at local restaurants while in the field. Then again, they were also used to eating Italian food, so they were going to have to make due with the combat rations.

Claes rummaged through the cardboard box containing the breakfast contents of the Module D ration, hoping to find something to suit her taste. All she could find, though, were biscuits, some fruit jelly, and several chocolate bars. She chose the biscuits, spreading some of the fruit jam onto them, and began munching unenthusiastically. She didn't want to spend the time heating up the tea that came with the ration though, as she would feel ridiculous using the pack's camp stove in front of the already staring Desert Children.

Angelica, on the other hand, did not share the same feelings of embarrassment, and went straight to work on the chocolate bars without caring about the strange looks that were given to her by the mercenaries. She bore the same uninterested look as she ate, however, which must have rubbed off on her from Claes some time ago.

As Claes ate, she couldn't help but feel that the food tasted a bit… impersonal. The rations were mass produced strictly for a soldier's diet, and by simply looking at the contents and how they were organized, one got the feeling of a strict, no-nonsense air that was typical for the military. Claes wasn't expecting a gourmet meal, but the least they could do was put some love into the food. "Marco," she asked as a cold joke, "You don't have any of the Module B's or F's do you? I think I'm going to need the _Cordiale/bevanda alcolica_ to make it through future meals."

"Sorry Claes," Marco answered blandly, taking the question as if it warranted a serious answer, "I can't allow you to drink liquor on the job."

"Saving them for yourself, I suppose," Claes sighed in jest as she continued to nibble on her biscuits in boredom.


	9. Starting Anew

Chapter 6: Starting Anew

After breakfast, a small five-man squad of Desert Children armed themselves with some of the new weapons that Marco had brought to them and gathered on the outskirts of the settlement. Claes and Angelica soon joined the squad accompanied by Marco. Claes and Angie had changed out of their black combat vests and into light, tan-colored robes that the mercenaries had provided for them. The robes came down to just above their ankles, allowing the girls to walk and even run without tripping themselves up. Underneath these, they wore the same cargo shorts and olive drab tank tops as they had the day before. To protect their heads from the desert heat, they wore head wraps of the same color as the robes.

The purpose of these outfits was not only to provide the soldiers with lightweight garb that offered protection from the sun, but the tan colors could allow them to hide among the dunes more easily. To keep up the idea of camouflage, though, Angelica had draped her AUG with a rough texture sand-colored cover. Claes had done the same with her new H&K G36K, a carbine variant of the G36 assault rifle. Marco had modified the gun specifically for Claes, giving it an adjustable stock and equipping it with a scope mounted on a Picatinny rail. Of course, he would hold onto the weapon until they reached their destination.

As soon as the cyborgs and their handler made sure they were ready to set off, the group, now of eight members, departed east on foot, toward the city of Ghardaia.

Marco immediately made note of how exaggerated the cyborgs' motions had become in order to compensate for their lack of footing in the sand. They took longer strides and swung their arms out slightly farther in front of themselves to keep their balance, especially when walking up the incline of a sand dune. Every now and again, the girls would lose their footing as their legs sunk too deep into the sand. Thankfully, only the top layer of sand was baked to searing temperatures by the overhead sun. The sand below this layer was of a cooler, more pleasant temperature. Nonetheless, the girls burned their hands and sometimes their faces as a result of these little stumbles.

"Try not to put too much weight into the foot in front as you step," Marco advised critically, "And when you're walking up the dunes, you have to move quickly. If you waste too much time standing on the incline, you'll just end up sinking and falling."

Angelica tripped again, burying her face in the hot sand. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes to get the fiery grains out of them. Claes reached her hand out and helped her friend up.

"Stop scratching," she told Angelica firmly, "Open your eyes." Angelica obeyed and Claes examined them. "They're a bit red," she reported, "But you should be okay."

"Thank you, Claes," Angelica sniffed. She was on the verge of tears. Everything that she had found fascinating about the desert was now overshadowed by its unforgiving and unrelenting nature.

"Let's get moving girls," Marco commanded impatiently, "You're slowing the group down."

"Tss," Claes fumed quietly, "Come on Angelica."

For the next hour the group trudged under the smoldering sun and through the scorching sand. As they walked, Claes and Angelica found themselves falling less and less. They were eventually able to keep up with the rest of the group on level areas, but the girls still found themselves to be considerably clumsier on the dunes.

Claes fiddled with her hands in order to keep them busy. She felt the need to wipe the sweat from her forehead, but she knew better. The instinct to remove her head wrap, however, was entirely new to her, for she had never been in a situation where wearing a hat would save her life. She recalled snippets of information that she had gathered from her readings. If she removed the head wrap, then heatstroke would inevitably follow coupled with delirium. Her mind tried to trick itself though, with anticipations of a cool breeze that would accompany the removal of the wrap. She could feel it buffeting her robe. All Claes needed to do was pull at the loose end of the cloth…

She shook her head to clear her mind. The breeze she felt was a desert wind that not only had a moderately hot temperature of its own, but it also flung burning sand in its path. Suddenly the head wrap felt nice and cool.

Walking beside Claes, Angelica was in a similar struggle for self control. She was fatigued and exhausted by the exertion and the heat, and she felt close to passing out. Angie routinely shook herself to get her focus back. In time, the feeling of blacking out passed, but was replaced by the sensation of mental disconnection. Although Angelica could not feel the fatigue anymore, she also realized that she could not feel much of anything else, as if her body was forcing itself to continue mechanically whilst her mind took a break. This couldn't be true, though, as Angelica was still able to use her mind to contemplate about this. The whole ordeal greatly confused her.

Suddenly, the group began to slow down. All at once, as though all eight of the group members shared a single consciousness, they entered into their combatant states of mind, their movements becoming more careful and calculated. They bent low, weapons always at the ready. Their breathing slowed as if collectively they made up a single predator anticipating the pounce and the bite to the throat of their prey.

The squad silently took cover behind a sand dune. In the distance, Angelica heard the engine of a vehicle, most likely a truck, so she came to the conclusion that there was a road beyond their cover. With the targets being so close, Marco deemed it necessary to give Claes her weapon. She accepted it and made sure it was loaded, that the safety was off, and as a personal preference, she set the fire selector to semi-automatic. Since she had the scope attachment, Claes wanted to make every shot count.

With the thought of imminent combat, the conditioning of the girls overrode all of the negative effects of the desert and its heat. Both Claes and Angelica perked up, their senses spiking and minds racing, already looking for strategies to assert combat dominance. They both figured that fighting from the high ground atop the sand dune would give them this advantage.

Marco, as if knowing what was going through their minds, whispered, "Stay away from the peak of the dune, as there's less sand at the top of the cone, meaning less resistance to projectiles than at the base. The only time you should be fighting on the top of a dune is if you're sniping and have some distance between you and the hostiles. The ideal cover to use would be some kind of large desert boulder or other kind of rock formation, with sand dunes being second best."

Both of the cyborgs nodded in acknowledgement. Clearly they both had much to learn.

"What's our objective?" Claes asked.

Marco answered coldly, "The Desert Children need more food."

Immediately Claes began to protest. "Marco," she hissed angrily, "I already told you that I'm not going to be eating stolen food! What makes you think I'm going to be okay with actually _stealing_ it?!"

Marco snapped back, "And I told _you_ that in order to survive here, you do what you must. Now, get ready to fight."

Claes simply looked Marco in the eyes without saying a word, but she obviously was not going to comply.

"That's an order!" Marco nearly barked, but he controlled himself, lest he somehow jeopardize the mission by alerting the approaching truck driver.

Claes stood from her crouched position and threw her G36K aside rebelliously. Immediately, as if in response to her actions, her head began pounding in pain and she felt nauseous. Claes doubled over in agony, clutching her head and nearly digging her fingernails into her temples.

Marco was a bit taken aback. He hadn't touched the remote for the shock collar, so the pain Claes was experiencing must have been the result of her corrupted conditioning. He was not prepared, though, for a reaction like this. Claes genuinely looked as if she were suffering through a hellish ordeal.

"Marco," one of the Desert Children said to him, "The convoy is closing in. We must commence the attack soon!"

Marco turned to Angelica. "Angie," he ordered, "Assist the DC while I take care of Claes!"

"Yes, sir," Angelica replied. She advanced along with several of the mercenaries to stand in a line in the middle of the road. The others remained behind the safety of the sand dune, preparing to give their comrades suppressing fire in case a real battle ensued. Angie and the others in the line raised their weapons, taking aim as the truck driver honked his horn wildly. Seeing this, the innocent driver tried to duck underneath the windshield, but to no avail. The firing squad showered the entire front of the truck with gunfire, spotting the metal with bullet holes and creating spider web-like fractures in the glass which were soon obscured as the driver's blood sprayed outward from his various gunshot wounds.

And then there was silence. The perforated truck slowly rolled to a stop, and Angelica and the DC quickly searched through its contents to see what useful items it contained. The entire attack had lasted less than thirty seconds.

While the ambush was executed, Marco worked to alleviate Claes' pain. He tried to give her a counter order by telling her _not_ to participate in the ambush, but that had no effect on her suffering. She was trembling in agony and her fingernails had made small cuts into her temples.

Marco picked up Claes' discarded assault rifle and held it out to her. "Take it," he ordered to her. If the pain began as a result of throwing her weapon away, perhaps it would depart if she took it up again. However, Claes could not bring herself to tear her hands away from herself, despite her painful clawing.

Marco was suddenly hit with a seemingly deranged idea. He produced the shock collar remote from his pocket, but hesitated to press the button. If this didn't work, Claes could seriously injure herself, possibly being rendered useless in the process. Marco couldn't afford to lose one cyborg so early on. In fact, he never planned on losing either Angelica _or_ Claes, despite the indifference that he treated the latter with. He quickly made up his mind, however, and decided that this was his only hope.

"If this doesn't work, Claes," he said apologetically, "Then I'm sorry."

He pressed the button. At first, Claes tensed up even more and even convulsed slightly due to the electricity. However, after the initial shock, she collapsed onto the sand and lay still. Her pained moaning ceased and she didn't seem to be hyperventilating any longer. In fact, Marco wasn't sure if she was breathing at all.

He quickly grasped Claes' wrist and checked for a pulse. Thankfully, he felt one, and to his surprise it seemed perfectly healthy. As far as he or anyone else could tell, Claes was simply sleeping now.


	10. Making Amends

Chapter 7: Making Amends

An hour later, Claes lay on a cot back in the DC encampment in a tent that served as their infirmary. Marco and Angelica had moved fast once Claes had calmed down. They had quickly loaded her onto the smoking food delivery truck, kicked out its obscuring, blood-splattered windshield, and recklessly drove the entire mess back to the settlement, rushing to get her medical attention.

Truthfully, Claes was touched by Marco's desperate actions. Because of the swiftness with which he acted, she felt that she could almost trust him. There was another reason for this though. When Claes had first regained consciousness, she found her VP70M lying underneath her pillow.

She smiled ever so slightly as she turned her beloved gun over in her hands. Yes, she could almost trust Marco. But just almost. The shock collar still irritated and choked her. Claes didn't care if it had saved her life. Wearing it was demeaning and degrading and she resented the weight of it around her throat. She knew, though, that it had just become important to her as well as to her new handler. If the scientists back in the SWA hadn't botched her obedience conditioning, perhaps she wouldn't need the collar. Seeing as Claes did not agree with the majority of Marco's methods and beliefs, though, she felt the shock collar would need to be put to use again in the future when she would further disobey his orders.

As Claes replaced the weapon underneath her pillow, Angelica entered the infirmary with the combat ration that Claes had opened during breakfast. The lunch and dinner portion were still there, so Angelica had thought her friend would have liked to eat more after her ordeal. After giving the ration to Claes, Angelica took up one of the plastic folding chairs commonly used by the visitors of the infirm and sat next to Claes' cot. "How are you feeling?" she asked concernedly.

Once she had popped a few vitamin tablets and chewed on some bran crackers to clean her system out a little, Claes answered, "I'm not feeling any pain at all, but I'm completely drained of energy." She then proceeded to open the can of tuna and peas in her ration pack, making a face at its unappetizing appearance and setting it aside in exchange for a canned fruit cocktail that tasted somewhat bland.

Angelica remained silent for several seconds, hesitated, and then said apologetically, "Claes, I… I'm sorry Marco treated you the way he did." She bit her lip, bracing for a harsh retort.

However, Claes simply responded indifferently between spoonfuls of diced fruit, "Why? _He_ should be the sorry one. _He's_ the one who gave me an order I couldn't follow. _He's_ the one who tested me. Not you. "

"Well, I mean," Angelica took a pause, trying to organize the thoughts in her mind. She wasn't a very skilled speaker, and she was always afraid of being in the way, which was why she almost never talked. Finally, once she felt ready, Angelica replied, "It's not that _I'm_ sorry," at this, Claes shot her a dangerous look and, panicking, Angelica quickly tried to correct herself, "I mean I _know_ none of this was my fault, but… I don't know… I just wanted to show you that I cared. That's how people say it, right?" As she spoke, Angelica's voice lost what little confidence it had until the final word she spoke was just a nervous little squeak.

Claes had stopped eating during Angelica's repentant, yet frightened apology. Instead, she simply poked uninterestedly at her fruit cocktail as if toying with whether or not to respond in exasperation or empathy. In truth, Claes just wanted to put some time in between Angie's question and her own response to make her friend sweat over it. It wasn't out of cruelty. Honestly, it was just Claes' way of showing affection. Normal people openly tease their close friends. Claes did it covertly. She sighed in mock decision and finally replied, "Yes, Angie, that's how people say it."

Angelica relaxed and beamed. "I'm glad," she said simply. She stood from the plastic folding chair, waving to Claes as she made for the tent flap.

"Where are you going?" Claes questioned, "You just got here."

"I know," Angelica said regretfully, "But Marco says that I need to continue training as soon as possible. He said as soon as you're feeling up to it, you should join us too. I'm sorry."

Claes silently nodded in understanding, allowing Angelica to turn toward the entrance again. Before she exited, though, Angie turned back to her friend and added hesitantly, "By the way…" with the sun behind Angelica, Claes didn't know for sure, but she thought she could see doubt and sorrow in her friend's eyes as she said, "I think Marco is sorry as well." She hurriedly left the tent.

Claes sat in silence, still poking at her fruit cocktail. This time, though, she had genuinely lost her appetite. She could feel her VP70M jabbing at her from underneath the pillow on her cot. She sighed ruefully. _I know, Angie_, she thought to herself, _I know_.


	11. Supply Drop

Chapter 8: Supply Drop

The following eight days consisted of grueling combat training during the hottest moments of the day and the coldest times of the night. Marco decided to move away from on the job training due to the fiasco that occurred the last time, but to compensate he pushed the girls to their limits. Claes and Angelica had to train in order to learn how to repair a weapon jammed by sand, how to maneuver on foot in the sand at a combat-effective speed, and even how to survive out in the heart of the desert with minimal equipment. Marco spent an entire day teaching the girls wilderness survival techniques, mainly how to use articles of clothing to protect from the sun, how to use any rocks or boulders in the area to guard against desert winds, and especially how to find and extract water and what kind of animals and plants (what few of them there were) to live on during emergencies. Claes had always been curious to see how scorpions tasted, but admittedly after actually picking one up that was covered in sand and getting her lips stung repeatedly as she tried to devour her prey, she was put off somewhat. Claes was also frustrated to find out that Marco neglected to tell her that removing the scorpion's stinger before ingestion was the safest thing to do.

The girls also had to undergo rigorous desert heat conditioning, where for extended periods of time they were exposed to the noontime sun, risking dehydration and insanity. Both Angelica and Claes were unsure about whether or not this would actually amount to anything besides damaging their bodies and running the risk of killing themselves.

Over time and mainly due to these insane exercises, the cyborgs became well acquainted with the infirmary staff, especially the chief physician, a local woman by the name of Nuha Abd-al-Badr that treated the girls like her own daughters and always spoke kindly to them. It turns out that Nuha was also one of Marco's acquaintances during the civil war. She told the girls that she used to work as a doctor in Algiers, but the violence of the war caused her to flee the city, where Marco and the Desert Children found her and picked her up.

Aside from Nuha, Claes and Angelica quickly gained the respect of the entire DC community. They all doubted whether or not two young Italian girls could fit in and survive in their erg, but both of the cyborgs proved to be admirably tenacious and, to Marco's relief, both operated on a level of efficiency in the desert that rivaled their skill in urban settings.

Angelica and Claes benefited from this progress as well. Back home in the crowded Italian streets and alleyways, they had always focused so heavily on lines of sight, cover, and fighting stationary. However, due to the lack of physical protection in the desert, they learned how to stalk and ambush, as well as how and where to move during a firefight. The girls became more lenient with their combat tactics, embracing the use of mobile engagement as a means to suppress their enemies whilst moving to cover. Also, flanking, while important in all combat situations, became an art form for them, as Claes and Angelica learned to slip out of the view of their enemies and reappear at a sand dune adjacent to theirs, effectively removing their chances of survival.

Marco marveled at the transformation that they had made. Truth be told, he doubted whether or not they could adjust to the new lifestyle and combat tactics, but the cyborgs transitioned seamlessly and no one could have predicted it. He smiled proudly as they went from soldiers to guerilla hybrids, with the training and skill of execution that only special operatives had, coupled with the cunning and ruthlessness of the toughest of mercs. Marco itched with anticipation, as the true operation could finally begin…

* * *

A few days back, the Desert Children had repaired and refueled the food delivery truck that they had raided on the second day of the arrival of the SWA operatives. Now, on the ninth day, the three operatives sat in the back of the truck amongst several crates of weapons and ammunition from their original collection from Italy. They were heading south toward the town of El-Golea, however the driver was inexperienced, so the ride was violently bumpy, forcing Marco, Claes, and Angelica to hang on using straps within the truck in order to keep from being thrown from wall to wall. Despite this, all three of the passengers looked perfectly calm and composed, wearing their body armor and combat boots. Angelica had her AUG sitting on her lap, Marco decided to use one of the Desert Children's AK47s, and Claes' G36K was strapped to her back. She kept her glasses on, though. She always did until the shooting started.

"So what are we doing now?!" Claes yelled over the sound of the engine and the running over of rocks. Within the first few days after her recovery, Claes and Marco had returned to speaking terms, and since the interception of the food delivery, neither of them argued or fought with the other. Claes hoped the mission they were embarking on now wouldn't change that.

"Remember my friend, Hadi?!" Marco said, raising his voice. Once both of the girls nodded, Marco continued, "His men have been doing some intelligence gathering and they've found out that the Jackals will be raiding a military armory for supplies today! We're going to meet Hadi there and set up an ambush! Sound good to you?!"

Both of the girls nodded and in perfect unison affirmed, "Yes, sir!"

Claes couldn't wait, though, and she was secretly excited. The sooner they engaged the Jackals in a real fight, the sooner she could get home. She knew, however, that she was getting far too ahead of herself. They would still have to find their leader and assassinate him (or her), not to mention wipe out their army of 50,000 soldiers. The first objective Claes and Angelica could probably do with very little difficulty. The second, though, was still somewhat daunting to them.

"Shouldn't we be going with more backup, though?!" Claes asked, "All we have is the driver, and he can't drive to save his life!"

Marco answered, "Junayd doesn't want to send any of his Children on this mission! He doesn't want them getting involved in military affairs!"

As the truck bounced and bumped, Angelica began to wonder about the mission. What was the size of the armory? Also, how large was a typical Jackal raiding party? She just couldn't get over the fact that she didn't know what she was getting into, so she asked Marco, "How big is the armory that we're protecting?!" She didn't want to ask about the Jackal raiding party, though, for fear of showing how nervous she was.

Marco thought for a second until he replied, "It's fairly large and decently secure, but the Jackals have a knack for pushing through the kinds of defenses that the military puts there! That's where we come in! In terms of size, though, the area of the armory is roughly the same as the dormitories in the Agency!"

Claes thought about this for a moment. The cyborg dormitories of the Social Welfare Agency covered an area roughly the size of an average college campus. If the armory spanned an area this large, then the Jackal raiders would have to either be fairly dense in number, or extremely well armed, and since she had fought Jackals before, she knew that they generally did not carry very impressive weaponry. Claes, therefore, used the fact that the size of the enemy force is directly proportional to the size or importance of their target in order to size up the threat level of the mission. Regardless, she decided to pose the question, "What kind of body count are we looking at here?!"

Marco answered, "Since the armory is of considerable size, I would say the Jackals would send in a few hundred men in order to sack it!"

At this, Claes whistled in an impressed manner, whereas Angelica remained grimly silent, teeth grating nervously. Both noticed the truck slowing down as it neared its destination. Claes checked her carbine's safety switch and made sure that it was loaded, while Angelica tried to do the same for her rifle, simultaneously working to keep her hands from shaking.

As the truck came to a stop and the guards waved for the driver to enter the armory, Marco stood and prepared to open the truck's shutter. He noticed, of course, that Angelica was feeling doubt, and decided to give her reassurance. When the shutter was open and all three of them hopped out, Marco placed a hand on Angie's shoulder and said to her, "You're going to be fine, just remember your training."

Angelica nodded slowly, still in doubt, so Marco added, "Besides, it should be easier for you here as the desert's on the outside of the armory. The Jackals are going to be the ones fighting on the sand, whereas you and I are back on good old concrete."

After some deep breathing to steady her nerves, Angelica stopped shaking, feeling more secure and confident. As she looked around at the armory, she felt safer as well. There were four thick concrete walls with steel fortifications surrounding a small structure in the center. Because of its diminutive size, Angelica surmised that the armory descended underground. Also, at each corner of the square area rose four tall sniper towers. All around the complex there was activity. Heavily armed police officers and military personnel scrambled back and forth, organizing for the upcoming attack. Angie was certain that the Jackals had no chance of getting through these defenses. There was still just a hint of fear lying dormant in the back of her mind, though…

"Hello there, girls, it is good to see you again!" Hadi al-Haidar seemed to materialize from nowhere and immediately locked Claes and Angelica in a crushingly affectionate embrace.

Neither of the girls were prepared for this act of loving familiarity or Hadi's unbefitting jolliness. One would think that anyone setting up an ambush for a large mercenary raiding party would behave somewhat more soberly.

Before the cyborgs could respond, however, Marco cleared his throat audibly, causing Hadi to release them and turn his attention to his old friend. "Marco," he said slightly more seriously, "Have you come prepared, my friend?"

Marco nodded, jerked a thumb at the food delivery truck, and said, "I've got several crates of grenades, RPG's, and ammunition in the back. Tell your men to help themselves."

Hadi looked into the truck and saw the crates for himself. He laughed at the thought of each being filled with explosive ordnance, and called out to his men to pick out whatever they wanted. In a short amount of time, after the crowd of Algerian personnel converged onto the truck and took their share of weapons, only three crates were left. One of them still had ammunition, the second had grenades, and the third was stocked with five rocket-propelled grenades along with a single launcher.

Marco whistled and muttered to Hadi, "That was fast. They were like locusts."

Hadi chuckled, patting his friend on the back and saying, "I am sorry, Marco, but you did not truly expect to bring your weapons here for my men to use and still have some left to take home, did you?"

"I suppose I not," Marco laughed, shaking his head, "But a man can always hope, can't he?"


	12. War

Chapter 9: War

After seeing the crowd descend upon the truck and pick its contents clean, Claes and Angelica were relieved to have stocked up on grenades beforehand. They hoped, though, that there would be enough ammunition to last them the entire fight. Perhaps they could enter the armory if they needed in order to resupply, but the girls decided not to ask in case they didn't get the clearance. After all, nobody should notice or even care if they slipped in for a little reprieve and some ammo.

Marco motioned for Claes and Angelica to group with him for a briefing and assignments. "Claes," he said, "I need you to cover both the north and west walls. I'm relying on you to protect the main entrance. I'll be willing to bet that the Jackals will want to focus on breaking through the doors rather than trying to blow down the concrete walls."

Marco then turned to Angelica and said, "Angie, I'm assigning you to the south and east walls to cover everything Claes isn't. After all, we don't know for sure yet how the Jackals operate, so my predictions have a good chance of being wrong."

"And what will _you_ be doing?" Claes questioned him.

"Hadi and I will be monitoring the situation and issuing orders wherever necessary," Marco replied, "But for now, I'll leave the two of you to fire at will and engage targets how you see fit. Now, step to!"

At this, Angelica and Claes set off for their respective posts, both making their final mental preparations before the battle began. Angelica especially had a lot to sort through in her mind. This was only the first real skirmish against the Jackals and she already felt petrified in terrible fear. She doubted whether or not she would be able to pull through. Eventually, though, her conditioning caused her to reconcile her fear with the thought of taking the mission one fight at a time. After all, they weren't going to be fighting all 50,000 Jackals at once. She found her hands were still were still shaking, however.

Claes' mind, on the other hand was running like clockwork. She was laser-focused on winning this fight, prevailing in future battles, killing the Jackal leader, and finally going back home to Italy. She didn't care how many mercenaries she would have to kill, or how many orders she would have to take, as long as it was all relevant to the mission. Because of this concentration, Claes had no fear or apprehension. Not like Angelica.

Then, as Claes was ascending the stairway to the platform of the west wall, a small _pop_ resounded in the distance and something fell near her, crashing on the edge of the stairs and tumbling the rest of the way down to the courtyard of the armory complex. Looking down over the edge, Claes saw that it was a man that had fallen. During his tumble, he had smashed his head on the stairway and was bleeding profusely, making a small crimson pool that surrounded his head like a halo. She also noticed, though, that the dead man's left eye had been obliterated by an entry wound.

Suddenly, there was a burst of activity. Everyone within the armory rushed to take cover and there were many cries warning of snipers and ordering people to get down. Claes stayed low, but continued to ascend the staircase to the top of the west wall, removing her glasses at the same time. Once there, she pressed herself against the southwest tower and peeked out to see seven transport trucks on the horizon offloading a large group of mercenaries. Claes turned and looked out on the other side of the tower to see the same occurrence. The Jackals were covering all four sides of the armory and seemed to be pouring out in a steady stream from their vehicles and quickly taking cover behind them, or behind the sand dunes that rose up on all sides of the armory. On the top of these dunes were posted a number of snipers peeking through their scopes. Unexpectedly, part of the wall exploded near Claes' face as a bullet tore through it, causing her to withdraw back behind cover. Suddenly, the armory didn't seem as well fortified as she had originally thought.

Luckily, inside of each tower there were posted several military snipers. They were slow to organize and spot the mercenary snipers, mainly because the mercenaries fired at them so often with no regard for whether or not they actually hit anything. However, once the military snipers did get organized, they effectively suppressed or eliminated their mercenary counterparts.

Once this was accomplished, the soldiers within the walls emerged from their covers and began to engage the quickly advancing mercenaries. Both Claes and Angelica repeatedly took cover, jumped out, fired in bursts, and then took cover once again. They scrambled from tower to tower frantically fighting to push back the ever approaching wave of Jackals. The concrete around their heads and the soldiers at their sides were torn apart by enemy fire, but the cyborgs miraculously avoided being killed.

Angelica ran fast, staying low toward the northeast sniper tower, hopping into a baseball slide and spinning so that her back slammed into the tower wall where she was safe. Once she was hidden behind the tower, Angelica went to work assessing her situation. With the arrival of combat, her shaking had stopped and her mind became honed like a sharp blade. She reloaded her AUG and counted her remaining magazines. She had three more on reserve, which was hardly enough to keep defending the walls for very long.

"How are you holding up?" asked Claes casually, making Angelica jump in surprise. She had been crouching behind the northeast tower with Angelica the whole time.

"I-I'm alright," Angelica stammered, "But… don't you think this isn't the best time to be talking?"

Claes pulled a grenade from her belt, pulled out the pin with her teeth, and threw it over the wall, across the sand, and behind a nearby sand dune that was sheltering a squad of mercenaries. The grenade worked to flush them out and as they fled to avoid the explosion, they exposed themselves, allowing Claes to fire several bursts from her carbine and eradicate them. As she reloaded, she replied simply, "You're probably right. We'll talk after all of this blows over." With this said, Claes leaped up at a ducked run toward the northwest sniper tower, avoiding a rain of enemy fire and even tossing in another grenade as she ran, causing more panic among the Jackals and allowing her to fire at them as soon as she reached her cover.

Angelica marveled at how quickly Claes worked. She couldn't believe that this was the same girl that would lie in her bunk all day, reading, and occasionally leaving her dorm to tend to her vegetable garden. Angelica couldn't believe that this was the same Claes that made tea and cake for her and the other girls while asking none for herself in order to maintain her conservative aura. On the inside, Angelica felt saddened by her friend's sudden change, but for some reason, there was fear there too…

"Angelica!" Marco called out from the courtyard, snapping her out of her reverie, "The snipers in the southeast tower are all dead, I need you up there to give our men sniper cover!"

"Roger," Angelica called back and immediately darted towards the southeast tower. Once there, she kicked down the wooden door, ascended the spiral steps, and entered the sniper's nest. She found three dead men lying on the floor, but she ignored them, picking up one of their Steyr SSG 69 rifles instead, making sure to keep away from the sniper slits in the walls until she was ready to fire. Angelica checked the weapon's magazine, and, finding it empty, threw it away, pulling back the bolt to expend the last spent shell. She pulled a magazine from the belt of one of the snipers, slammed it into her weapon, and pushed the bolt back forward.

After these preparations were, made, she hugged the wall where the sniper slits were, raised her rifle and looked out at an angle with her scope. Immediately she spotted four Jackals perching on top of a sand dune. They hadn't seen her yet. Angelica slowed her breathing to relax herself and steady her aim. Then, in the moment of miraculous concentration which caused the illusion of stillness and silence, she pulled the trigger. The rifle thudded against her shoulder as she fired, but her target's skull was shattered as it was hit. Angelica jerked the bolt back then forth, aimed, and fired again, killing another sniper.

By now, the other two were very well aware of their new adversary and began to give her returning fire. Most of the bullets smashed harmlessly into the outside of Angelica's tower, but some passed through the slits and posed a significant threat. She crouched to avoid them, and hopped from one side of the wall to the other in case there were snipers outside her field of view that she needed to take care of. Angelica quickly spotted three more snipers and engaged them as well.

Meanwhile, Claes scrambled frantically back and forth across her assigned posts. Flushing out the Jackals with grenades seemed to be working well, but for some reason, she just could not stop them from advancing. The sound of gunfire was now drowned out by the constant hissing of RPG's being launched and the explosions that followed. Their allies, the Algerian military and Algiers police force, were beginning to use their larger, more destructive weapons as the mercenaries closed the distance. Sometimes this resulted in large Jackal casualties, but many times, the rocket-propelled grenades would simply bury themselves in the sand and explode within dunes, thus amounting to nothing but the spraying up of sand.

Amidst the chaos, Claes realized that the mercenaries would soon be upon the armory and that at this point they were going to have to fight in close quarters. If this happened, the mercenaries would have the advantage with their shotguns and submachine guns. She had an idea though.

"Marco!" she yelled once she caught sight of him running around the armory grounds screaming orders at everyone within earshot, "I need clearance to use an RPG and freedom of movement!"

Visibly confused and under a considerable amount of stress, Marco questioned, "Why?! Just stay at your post and help repel the mercs!"

"Please, Marco," Claes was almost begging now, "I can end this fight, just give me the clearance!"

After hardly any consideration, the preoccupied Marco assented and then continued to storm around the armory in a battle-fueled rage.

Claes jumped down from the wall, wasting no time. She quickly entered their food delivery truck and opened the crate that was supposed to contain the RPG's. Thankfully they were still there. Claes took the launcher, loaded it, and then slung it across her shoulder, while she began stuffing the inside of her vest with more rockets. In the end, she could only fit four additional rockets, but if her plan was executed well enough, she would only need four in total.

As Claes exited the back of the truck, she slipped and fell, but managed to pivot a foot in time so as to land on her back. _Maybe this isn't such a brilliant idea_, she thought to herself as her mind wandered to the four rocket-propelled grenades underneath the front of her vest.

Nevertheless, Claes moved on, returning to the west wall and crouching behind the southwest tower once more. She paused, breathing deeply to steady her nerves before she ran out from behind her cover, crouched on one knee, the RPG at the ready on her shoulder. She cocked her head and stared down the sight, lining up the crosshairs at the seven Jackal trucks still clustered in the distance. _I hope I can aim this thing_. Claes pulled the trigger and was nearly knocked down as the rocket was launched. Despite being unaccustomed to firing a weapon like an RPG, she watched as it hissed through the air, spinning and weaving. At first, Claes thought the rocket was too unstable to hit her mark, but as it went the distance, the rocket swiveled less, and finally, to Claes' great relief, it struck the group of trucks near the center, causing a chain reaction and destroying nearly each truck in the cluster.

Claes exhaled thankfully. She noticed that the wave of mercenaries slowed in doubt, torn between retreating and advancing. _It looks like this is going to work_, Claes gloated inwardly. If the Jackals didn't have any vehicles, they wouldn't be able to transport whatever weapons they acquired, and being stuck in the middle of the desert in a military armory waiting for an evacuation would leave them sitting ducks.

Reassured in her chances for success, Claes moved on to the northwest tower, jamming another rocket into the launcher. She aimed and fired again, this time hitting a truck directly. Now, some of the Jackals were beginning to retreat in a frenzy so that they could protect their vehicles. This disorganization allowed the military and police to wipe out a good number of them as they turned tail and fled. The remaining were sent Jackals into a state of doubt and fear. However, this did not stop a considerable portion of mercenaries from continuing their advance.

Claes stubbornly continued her assault. The next group of trucks took two rockets to destroy, and eventually she found herself taking aim at the final cluster. She only had one rocket left, so she couldn't miss, or she would have to go back to the truck and get another rocket, and doing this would give the remaining mercenaries time that Claes could not afford to give up, for they were already at the wall of the armory. On a positive note, the mercs had found something to occupy themselves, as nobody was shooting at Claes.

Once more she got down on one knee, stared down the sight of the RPG, and pulled the trigger. This time she took the force well and did not feel at all like falling over. Claes watched the rocket zoom through the air, spiraling more or less toward its intended target.

And then an explosion shook the earth, followed by a deep rumbling. The ground beneath Claes' feet cracked and caved in, sending her tumbling through the abyss below, where she was enveloped in a black shroud of unconsciousness…


	13. Regrets

Chapter 10: Regrets

During the few and flitting moments of near awakening, Claes found that Death not only had a smell, but a sound as well. The sounds of gunfire, cries of agony, the raspy breathing of the dying and flesh being torn from shattered bone became as familiar to Claes in this handful of moments in the darkness of her mind as the sounds of birdsong, garden soil being upturned, and Beethoven.

She felt numb and she couldn't control her own body. Her eyes were screwed shut, as if they were afraid of what they might see if they emerged from under the safety of their lids. Would the sky still be blue? Had the sand been mixed with blood and turned into a sickening slush? Claes couldn't be sure, however her eyes still hid themselves no matter how she reassured them. The previously mentioned sounds hardly reached her for being drowned out by the incessant ringing in her ears. They sounded distant and muffled, like someone being suffocated by a plastic bag several yards away. Her head pounded in pain and the broken, uneven ground that she lay on, like the site of a building reduced to rubble, simply added to her discomfort. Were Claes conscious, she would find herself screaming in agony. She rolled over onto her side and groaned in anguish instead.

Only a few feet from where she lie, Claes could just barely discern the sound of shuffling feet and yelling in a language unfamiliar to her, coupled with the explosions of shotgun fire and rapid rattling of machine pistols, unaware due to her stupor that if these soldiers were to find her, then they would kill her. She couldn't quite appreciate the kind of danger she was in, though, as her mind still hadn't fired itself up to its full level of activity.

Suddenly, the shuffling grew closer and sounded as if its source was standing over Claes. A pause in gunfire and surprised yelling confirmed this. The mercenaries had found her. Claes' heart raced, but she still didn't have the ability to act out. She was paralyzed and was about to be executed by an African mercenary in the middle of nowhere. Italy was a faraway fantasy now. She saw her garden rotting and falling apart in her absence; Raballo's library gathering dust and being forgotten in its little corner in the SWA dormitories. Worst of all, nobody would be around to give Triela flak for the way she tried to hide her true love for her handler. No one to give Henrietta that harsh dose of reality as she floated dreamily through the air in her own private illusion. Who, in Claes' absence, was going to feed the innocent little Angelica and quiet little Rico bits of information and wisdom from the multitude of books that she had read? How would Marco and Angie escape Africa without her?

The Jackal standing over her took aim with his shotgun.

And then, a distant _boom_ rang out. There was the sound not unlike that of a melon being smashed with a sledgehammer as a head was burst and a life ended…


	14. Moving On

Chapter 11: Moving On

The Jackal mercenary's head had been popped like a melon. Several yards away, standing at the center of the armory compound, an enraged, vengeful Angel stood, her AUG A1 still raised and smoke still floating up from its barrel. She breathed heavily, gritting her teeth and clenching her weapon so tightly that her hands shook. Although furious and seething on the outside, Angelica was frightened on the inside. She wasn't sure if Claes was still alive. Had she acted in time? She couldn't be sure, but if she had, she would need to follow it up.

Angie stomped her way to the fallen section of the armory's south wall where Claes lay. As she approached, she saw the heads of several Jackals peeking out at her. She opened fire, not caring if she hit anything or not, but being perfectly content with ripping apart the wall near them and forcing them back behind cover. What Angelica didn't see was the little argument that the mercenaries had behind the wall.

"Should we run?" asked one of the Jackals, his knees buckling in fear.

"Of course not, you idiot," another shouted in reply, "Why would you even consider such a thing?"

"That demon girl looks angry," a third mercenary offered, shaking similarly to the first, "Perhaps it would be best to leave and report back the mission as a failure."

"If we do that," the second merc said, "Then we die anyway. We must fight on and kill these demon children!" He stood to fire upon the still advancing Angelica and was immediately cut down by a hail of gunfire. He fell to the ground, drenched in his own blood, bullet holes dotting his chest and arms. The Jackal struggled to breath. He tried to exhale, but instead there was a wet gurgling noise and blood filled his throat and mouth. A few more wet sputters and he finally lay still, a look in his eyes lingered that seemed to plead, "Do something!" to his comrades.

The first and second mercenaries stared in shock as they watched their friend die, and then they looked up at each other. Simultaneously, as if they had consulted with each other telepathically, they stood and sprinted full speed away from the armory, panting, whimpering and crying in terror.

When Angelica reached the rubble of the collapsed section of the south wall, she was met with the sight of two Jackals fleeing with super human speed granted to them by fear. She could hear their frenzied, pleading cries from where she stood, and, taking pity on them, she decided to let them go. All of their trucks had been reduced to a smoking pile of debris anyway, so there was no need to worry too much about them.

Angelica then laid her eyes on her friend, sprawled on top of the concrete wreckage. She was covered in dust and sand that clung to her with sweat, making her dark hair look gray. Claes lay stone still on her side in a semi-fetal position, blood dripping from a cut on her temple to the concrete, staining her bruised forehead and face with crimson streaks. Seeing that her friend wasn't moving, Angelica's heart skipped a beat. That's when Claes inhaled the dust that lingered in the air and coughed a dry, pained cough.

Immediately, Angelica shouldered her AUG and, lifting her friend by the armpits, dragged her from on top of the pile of debris and towards the center of the armory, where Marco stood, surveying the damage that had resulted from the skirmish that had just ended. Seeing his cyborg dragging her unconscious friend, Marco immediately ran to meet them. He asked, "What happened?"

Angelica gingerly lowered Claes to the floor, making sure to lay her head down gently. She answered her handler's question, pointing to the rubble pile where she found Claes, "She was standing on that section of wall when the Jackals used their demolition charges. I don't think the wall collapsed on her, since she was lying on top of _it_, but I can't tell to what extent she's been injured."

Marco crouched down and removed Claes' combat vest. The olive t-shirt underneath looked perfectly fine, and was spotless, so it wasn't likely that Claes had suffered any damage to her torso. Her upper arms were also relatively unharmed, except for a little bruising. However, her forearms were not only bruised, they were cut and had bled quite badly. The cut on Claes' temple had stopped bleeding and didn't look too serious upon closer inspection. Her Cargo pants had been torn and underneath her legs were just as badly injured as her arms. Marco felt gently for any protruding broken bones, but found nothing. This didn't mean that there weren't any, though.

Suddenly, Claes gasped and her eyes snapped open. They flitted here and there in confusion. Going from Angelica's concerned face, to Marco's always stern one and back. And forth. And back. "Are we still alive?" she asked, sounding exhausted but otherwise nonchalant.

Marco nodded. "We're alright," he answered, "But you've had quite a fall." He then proceeded to explain to her where she had been standing when the Jackals had pulled out their demolition charges.

Claes' reaction, instead of shock or surprise, was, "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

Marco tried again with the same results, so Angelica tried by saying, "Claes, you were standing on a section of the south wall that was demolished by the Jackals."

"The armory was demolished?" Claes asked in shock.

"No," Angelica tried to clarify, "The armory's _walls_-"

"Forget it, Angelica," Marco cut her off, "It looks to me like Claes has a concussion. She'll be too confused and disoriented for us to communicate with her right now. We should just load her into the truck and get back to the Desert Children headquarters. First, though, I'm going to have to debrief with Hadi and the military personnel."

Angelica nodded and watched as Marco stood and walked away. When Marco was out of earshot, she turned to her friend and asked, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright," Claes answered as she sat up, her concentration miraculously restored, "But I _am_ feeling a bit bruised and battered."

"That's because you _are _bruised and battered," Angelica replied.

"Did Marco fall for it?"

Angie giggled in reply, "Yes he did. Is that really how people behave when they have concussions?"

Claes shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I've never seen what a concussion looked like, but at least my act worked. Now we should be rushing back to the DC HQ."

Angelica smiled and added, "We'll be resting in the tent in no time."

Claes fell back flat on the ground in exhaustion. "Good," she said, "I need a nap." Then, she winked at her friend and said, "By the way, thanks for the help. I'd probably be dead right now if it weren't for you."

Angelica laughed and responded, "You don't have to thank me. I don't know what I would have done without you."

Claes, suddenly pensive, commented quietly, more to herself than anyone else, "Hmm... me neither." The image of her rotten garden, and lost library lingered in her mind. She knew what would happen to them if she died, but she never could guess exactly what would happen to the other girls. She didn't plan on finding out.


	15. Recovery

Chapter 12: Recovery

"Claes," Nuha Abd-al-Badr, chief physician of the Desert Children medical staff scolded the young, bloodstained cyborg in her infirmary, "You must be more careful. Not only for yourself, but for Marco and Angelica as well. You mustn't take too many chances here if you wish to survive."

Claes responded in protest, "This isn't my fault. I seem to have the worst luck out of the three of us, and yet I seem to be the one that Marco and Angelica rely on most of all."

"That cannot be true. I know you need them just as much as they need you Claes. I notice you seem to work much more efficiently when you are working alongside them."

"Whatever the case is," Claes said in an attempt to end the uncomfortable conversation, "For some reason _I'm_ always the one that gets injured or gets in trouble."

Nuha smiled and retorted, "That is because Angelica does not take risks like you do." This earned a roll of the eyes from Claes. "Here," Nuha said, handing Claes a roll of gauze, "Use these when your bandages become too bloody."

Claes accepted the gauze and hopped off of the medical cot, making her way to the tent flap with a slight limp. Nuha added before she left, "And please do not strain yourself. Otherwise your stitches may open up."

Claes waved back wordlessly in acknowledgement as she left the infirmary tent and into the daylight where the Desert Children encampment was just as busy as ever. She walked around, watching as her ally mercenaries scurried, some simply talking about the weather or recent decline in the quality of meals, others practicing with their weapons, or maintaining their equipment. Here the great contrasts of the Desert Children became obvious. On one hand, they were ruthless soldiers for hire that would kill anyone or destroy anything as long as it profited them. On the other hand, though, they were just like any other community, gathering together, conversing about everyday things, or even entertaining themselves with friendly games of chess, checkers, and mancala. What Claes found slightly humorous and slightly disconcerting was the fact that the younger Desert Children were typically the ones firing their weapons at sandbags or salvaged car hoods, whereas the older, more experienced soldiers were the ones staving off boredom with board games.

"Taliba!" a young boy of about seven or eight years called out to her clumsily lugging around a Barrett M82A1 .50 caliber anti-material rifle from Marco's original stash. "Taliba" was Claes' nickname given to her by the Desert Children. It meant "seeker of knowledge" in Arabic, which she supposed was suitable for her. Angelica's nickname was "Basma", which meant "smile", and Claes couldn't help but snicker about it.

The colossal rifle dwarfed the boy and was a full foot taller than he was. When he reached Claes, he was breathless from carrying it, but managed to request with a kindhearted smile, "Can you please show me how to use this great weapon?"

Claes debated on whether or not this was a wise decision, but decided that it couldn't do any harm if she did a small demonstration. She took up the rifle (which was almost as tall as she was) and also took the loaded magazine offered to her by the boy. The magazine itself was longer than her open hand. Claes slid it into the weapon and had to reach her arm out farther than she was used to in order to operate the bolt. After everything was in order and the rifle was loaded, she looked around for a target, and decided simply to shoot a concrete slab in the Desert Children's shooting range. Claes raised the rifle and looked through the scope. _I should use the bipod_, she thought to herself, but she chose not to. After all, she didn't want to get sand in her stitches. By this time, everyone in the area had stopped whatever they were doing and had begun staring at her, so Claes finally took aim, braced herself and pulled the trigger. The muzzle flashed blindingly, the boom was deafening, and to top it off, the rifle kicked like a bull. Claes managed to maintain her footing, but the rifle jerked itself upwards, and had she not prepared herself, it would have flown out of her hands. The sand around her was disturbed and jumped up slightly due to the force. Despite the extreme recoil, though, Claes had hit her target. Large chunks of the concrete slab fell away and one could clearly see a deep hole near the center.

Everyone watching clapped and laughed good-naturedly, exclaiming in excitement and parodying the power of the rifle with invisible, pretend ones. Claes removed the magazine from the rifle and removed the chambered round. She placed it on a nearby table and patted the young boy that had brought it to her on the head, smiling. She gave him a friendly warning, "I think it would be wise to wait a few years before you use that."

The boy returned her smile with one of his own and answered, "I will. I hope I can be as strong as you one day, Taliba." After this, he ran off to run and play with other children his age, laughing and screaming at the top of their little lungs.

With her demonstration finished, Claes continued wandering the compound when she saw Angelica sitting at a bench, a ration pack opened up in front of her with discarded chocolate bar wrappers surrounding it. Angie grinned at Claes. "That was impressive," Angelica laughed when her friend took a seat next to her.

"Yeah," Claes said rubbing her shoulder in pain, "And stupid too. I'm going to have another bruise because of that."

Angelica nodded quietly, and, suddenly becoming serious, said "Claes, you've just had some debilitating injuries. You're covered in gauze, you've got a bandage wrapped around your head, and you have a few dozen stitches on various places on your body. I think you should…"

"Lie down and die?" Claes offered bitterly.

"No," Angelica said calmly and soothingly, "Just… be more careful. Marco and I need you."

Claes rolled her eyes and shot back with passive hostility, "That's exactly what Nuha told me. The problem is that these injuries came from taking necessary action. If I hadn't done what I did with that RPG, do you think we would have made it out of that armory alive?"

Angelica thought for a moment and answered safely, "We would have found a way."

"The Jackals would have overwhelmed us."

"We still would have thought of something."

Claes gave Angelica a stinging, look of impatience. She reached over and picked up the steaming mug of tea that Angelica had made and took a sip. It was bitter, of course. "Angelica," she finally said in a slightly calmer manner, "You need to learn how to be realistic."

"Or," Angelica suggested, "You need to have more conviction."

Claes locked eyes with her friend, who returned her gaze with a strong, firm determination that even Claes didn't know she possessed. Africa had changed Angelica. It had changed Claes as well. To think that they weren't even in the most remote, alien part of the continent disturbed them both. They were only a short drive and boat ride away from getting back home. No plane necessary. Italy was so close, yet, however cliché it may sound, so far away. 50,000 mercenaries stood in their way, not including their elusive leader.

"_Stiamo sognando_," Claes sighed as she stopped her staring contest and dropped her head onto the table, "We're dreaming. We're not going to make it back to Italy."

"Don't say that," Angie tried to comfort Claes, "We're going to find our way back eventually. _Chi la dura la vince_. Those who persevere win at last."

Claes rolled her head lazily and looked into Angelica's earnest eyes. She had said what she did not because she knew it would make Claes feel better, but because she herself believed it, and believed it absolutely. "Did I teach you that?" Claes asked, trying to recall the time or moment in the past when she may have.

"No," Angie giggled, "I just taught you."

Claes sat up, sighing. She was genuinely amazed. Their roles seemed to have switched. Claes was now the one going to Angelica for comfort. She remembered back in Italy where Angie would knock on her door in tears, asking for advice on how to make Marco happy, or trying to rationalize how no matter what she did, Marco didn't appreciate her. Now, though, Marco openly _showed_ his appreciation. Now, Claes was the one with low spirits. Now, Angelica had all of the wisdom.

"Angelica," Claes said in defeat, "You really know how to make me throw myself into the mouth of the wolf."

Angie giggled again and provided the appropriate response. "May it die."


	16. Through the Eyes of the Enemy

Chapter 13: Through the Eyes of the Enemy

Five days later Claes had healed enough to be considered ready for combat. She no longer needed to wear gauze, or her head bandage, or to be wary of opening stitches. In fact, she personally felt that she was back to where she was five days ago before going to the armory. The time when she felt that the Jackals were simply another objective to eliminate had returned and her will to tear through their ranks was back with a raging, burning vengeance. Pity to those foolish enough to stand in her way now.

Angelica also seemed to have improved in her ability as a soldier. She thought like a real mercenary now and could, with good reason, call herself a skilled guerilla strategist. She had proved her mettle in a few small skirmishes with Jackals, most notably when she organized an ambush in a small desert gorge and drove a Jackal assault team to a fissure, wiping them out without so much as losing a single Desert Child.

When commanding their own squads, Claes and Angelica were two deadly forces of destruction that commanded their troops with the authority of generals and intelligence of strategists. However, when partnered, the two cyborgs became an unstoppable killing machine whose warpath always carved out a strip of desolation and death. Give them a goal to achieve (an enemy to kill, an object to steal, an enemy asset to destroy), then they became an unstoppable killing machine with a purpose, making them all the more dangerous.

The SWA operatives, Desert Children, and Algiers police force all worked together to whittle away at the Jackals. Marco and the cyborgs embarked on the most important missions: stealing resources, assassinating VIPs, destroying places of Jackal business, and doing anything and everything that would help make the war a hell for the Jackals. The DC fought with the Jackals head-on, winning skirmishes in the desert, in towns and cities, and even fighting off attacks at their own HQ (making the fact that the location of the Jackals' headquarters was still unknown to them a disconcerting matter). Finally, the Algiers police worked to oust the mercenaries out of cities, convincing the government and military to take on zero-tolerance policies for Jackal fronts and activity in some areas of Algeria, at the same time providing incentive to leave be the illegal presence of the SWA operatives and sometimes destructive actions of the Desert Children.

The three factions together made up a collectively well-oiled machine. The fact that the three leaders of each group were pragmatic, level-headed, practical, intelligent, and combat tested was also a huge help. Marco, Faiz Junayd, and Hadi al-Haidar each had the uncanny ability to rally their personnel and give them the spirit to fight on during even the most hopeless battles.

As the war against the Jackals took shape and all of its players unloaded their pieces onto the playing field, Angelica and Claes felt themselves slowly rock into the rhythm of war. The timing and tactics came to them easily, but they found putting them into practice a little more difficult than learning how to use them.

Eventually, though, both girls were being deployed on missions at least once a day, toiling in order to cripple their targets. Through their missions, they managed to learn more about how and where the Jackals operate, however, they found that information on their leader and their headquarters was scarce, no matter where they looked. That's why when they got the opportunity to capture a well-informed Padania agent coming in from Italy, Marco and the girls jumped at the chance…

* * *

Ciro Giacobbe had been an agent of the Republican Faction for several years, during which he had proven his skills many times over, especially when it came to armed conflicts of any kind. He had a way with manipulating riots and turning them into wars, or seeking out a target and eliminating them in broad daylight. He was an excellent assassin and soldier by anyone's standards. However, he had never been to Africa before, nor had he ever fought against the fabled Social Welfare Agency. He had heard the stories. Tales of young, innocent-looking girls pulling shotguns and assault rifles out of instrument cases and blasting away everyone in sight. Whispered accounts of the same girls killing everyone in a secure compound without making a single noise, and spiriting away an important asset to Padania. None of this, however, caused much concern for Ciro, partly because he just couldn't believe prepubescent girls could pose any sort of threat, and also because he simply had not seen them with his own eyes. How tragic the destinies of the blatantly ignorant are.

As his boat docked in the Algiers harbor and he presented his papers to the dock officials, Ciro met with his contact from the mercenary group known as the Jackals, who, along with an entourage of three heavily armed mercenaries, rushed him into the rear middle seat of one of their cars and immediately began their long drive south. Everyone seemed jittery and more nervous than would be expected from a professional merc group like the Jackals, and when questioned, Ciro's contact explained that there was a good chance that the SWA operatives that had arrived several weeks earlier would make an attempt at capturing him. To this, the arrogant Padania assassin chuckled, shaking his head, but otherwise not saying a word.

The Jackal in the passenger's seat nudged the driver and whispered something while pointing at the rearview mirror where they could see the reflection of a black SUV with tinted windows behind them at a cautious distance. The driver asked Ciro's contact something in Kabyle, and the contact responded in a half worried, half panicked tone. On the contact's orders, the driver turned left into the Rue Bab Azoun, keeping his eye on the rearview mirror and sighing in relief as he saw the SUV continue on its straight path right past their car.

Everyone in the Jackal vehicle exhaled simultaneously. The passenger turned on the air conditioning as they had all began sweating profusely from the close encounter. Ciro Giacobbe seemed completely unfazed, though, thus regarding his company with the austere disdain of a self-acknowledged professional. How could Padania be relying on such weak-willed fools to fight their most prominent enemies? He refrained from commenting out loud, though. It was alright now that he was in Algeria. He was going to turn the Jackals into a real force to be reckoned with, and he would personally kill any agents from the SWA that he encountered.

And then there was the deafening boom. The blinding muzzle flash could be seen in the window of an eatery at the other end of the street. The tinted bullet resistant glass of the Jackal car wasn't strong enough to shatter the .50 caliber rifle round, which pierced through both the window and the driver's right eye in a heartbeat. Before the remaining mercenaries could even react, another raucous bang resounded and the passenger's grey matter made a mess of the windshield. The second round had even passed through the head rest and killed Ciro's contact, who was sitting behind the passenger. The bullet had pierced his heart.

At this point, the final mercenary and Padania agent scrambled to get out of the car. The former ducked behind his open car door, while the latter performed a combat roll in order to get himself behind the remains of a restaurant wall that had been recently demolished. Ciro saw where his last living companion was attempting to hide. "Tsk," he clicked his tongue in contempt, just as the enemy sniper fired another round, which easily passed through the car's steel door and through the mercenary's jugular vein hiding behind it.

Alone and unarmed except for a combat knife and FN FNP-357 pistol, Giacobbe quickly and efficiently scanned his surroundings. The floors of the former restaurant that he was taking cover in had been swept clean after the "accident" that had occurred. The crumbling wall, however, reflected the damage and danger that the area had experienced several weeks earlier.

Suddenly, Ciro heard a multitude of footsteps resounding on the sidewalk outside of the restaurant. He redoubled his scan, and quickly found the restaurant's bathroom. He wasted no time darting into it and searching for his way out…

* * *

Angelica jumped out from behind the collapsed wall, prepared to cut down any hostile that stood in her way. Following her every move were three helmeted and flak-jacketed Desert Children. Angie's AUG swiveled this way and that as she looked for her target, but he was nowhere to be found. The restaurant was stark, every table and chair that once stood and accommodated the hungry patrons had been taken away and placed into another building. There was no object to take cover behind and no place to duck into except for the… bathroom!

"Claes," Angelica called into the miniscule communicator clinging to her ear, "Giacobbe's gone into the washroom, make sure there isn't a back entrance, over."

"Roger that," Claes affirmed, as she picked up her colossal Barrett rifle and hurriedly headed for another part of the eatery's upper floor, "I'm repositioning now, over."

Angelica turned to the three mercenaries following her, simultaneously pointing at the chipped, worn and battered door that led to the bathroom. "Stack up!" she ordered, and immediately the three Desert Children pressed themselves up against the wall next to the door. The one closest to the doorknob turned it slowly so that if anyone was watching on the other side, they would anticipate a slow and cautious entrance.

And then, without warning, Angelica gave the door a savage kick.

* * *

Ciro Giacobbe listened as the bathroom door was bashed inwards. After entering the bathroom, he was terribly dismayed to find not a single window or opening in the dirty brown tiled wall. In desperation, he hid himself in the toilet stall closest to the door. He knew the risk he was taking, but take it he must if he hoped to survive this encounter.

As soon as the door burst open, Ciro held his breath and heard his heartbeat accelerate to the point where every contraction was excruciating. Several pairs of feet were heard rushing into the bathroom, securing corners, and the stalls without doors. After perhaps three seconds, a man's voice announced, "Clear!" in Arabic. That's when Ciro made his move.

He rushed forward, sending his shoulder right through the bathroom stall, splintering the wood in a loud outburst of energy. Ciro headed straight for the door, firing his pistol blindly behind him in order to cover his getaway. He was in such a hurry, that he did not see how his pursuers reacted, but he was far too focused on getting through the door and then getting out of the restaurant that he couldn't be bothered to notice anything else.

Once more out on the sun baked streets, Giacobbe headed down the street that his car had come from. He heard someone chasing him, but instead of looking back, he fired several more potshots before he ducked into an alleyway. He stopped and turned around, taking aim at the end of the alley. As soon as his pursuer rounded the corner, a dark-haired, light-skinned girl in a tan flak jacket, Ciro squeezed the trigger of his FN FNP-357, hitting the girl twice in the torso, and forcing her back behind cover.

After several backwards steps, keeping his weapon aimed at the entrance to the alley, Giacobbe turned and ran back out to the street. He no longer heard the girl following him and he made sure to stay away from the eatery where the sniper had been posted, and so with this sudden onset of peace, Ciro took the time to catch his breath.

So, the stories from his colleagues were true. For the most part at least. Ciro was not in the least bit impressed with the child assassin that he had killed, and he did not witness the ruthless efficiency or brutality that his fellow Padania agents had spoken of. He smirked in his triumph over the deadliest and most feared of his Faction's enemies and gloated to himself. _Two shots to the chest were all it took to take her down_ he pondered, _It looks like these girls die just like everything else_.

A rustling behind him made Ciro whirl around, raising his pistol at the source; the girl that he had supposedly killed was standing behind him now with two large bullet holes in her jacket. She had strapped her rifle to her back and stood, fists clenched and eyebrows sternly crimped, breathing heavily.

Ciro was still unfazed, as the girl had proven to be careless enough to stand and offer herself up to her opponent unarmed. He took aim at her head, specifically at her eyes. Some had said that shooting them through the eyes was the fastest way to eliminate a SWA cyborg. However, once he pulled the trigger, Ciro was caught off-guard to hear an empty _click_. It turns out that he had proven to be careless enough to expend his entire magazine during his escape.

The girl advanced, taking a few slow and careful steps, and suddenly lunging forward with surprising speed, giving Giacobbe hardly enough time to unsheathe his combat knife. He slashed at his opponent's throat, but she proved too quick, maneuvering under the knife and striking his midsection with her small fist. The speed with which she had pounced, coupled with her enhanced strength made the punch devastating, throwing Ciro back several feet.

However, he rebounded, rolling off of his back as soon as he hit the ground. The girl chose not to continue her offensive, though. Both the Padania assassin and SWA operative circled one another, slowly and apprehensively sizing up the other. And then, Giacobbe stepped forward, thrusting his knife with great speed and accuracy…

* * *

Angelica caught her target's wrist effortlessly, pulling it forward slightly and using his momentum to make him stumble. At this point, with her opponent unbalanced and doubled over, Angelica deftly twirled his arm and wrenched it downward, forcing him to the ground. He dropped his knife for the pain in his awkwardly positioned arm, and Angelica kicked it away, thus eliminating his only chance at winning the fight.

In order to put a definite end to the mission, Angelica, still keeping her target's face planted in the sidewalk with his arm, brought her foot down onto the back of his head, holding back just enough so that she didn't accidentally kill him. After doing so, she bent the now limp arm behind the Padania agent's back and placed lightweight PlastiCuffs on both of his wrists. Finally, with the hard work done, Angelica spoke into her communicator. "Claes," she reported, "I've captured the target. Be prepared for extraction, over."

She heard Claes' voice crackle and reply, "Copy that. I'm packing up, over."

Angelica then reported in to Marco, relaying the news of her success, to which he asked, "Well done Angelica. What is your position, over?"

"I'm five hundred meters south of Rue Bab Azoun in the Rue Abane Ramdane next to…" she looked around at her surroundings and finished, somewhat confusedly, "A toy store and a gun shop, over."

A few seconds later and Marco had zeroed in on her position. "Roger that," he said, "Sit tight for extraction, over."

Angelica sighed in relief and looked down at the prone, handcuffed figure at her feet. He had been fairly skilled, shooting her twice and nearly cutting her throat open. Angelica could see why the Republican Faction had sent him. Had Marco been ignorant of this man's coming to Algeria, he could have had devastating effects on their campaign against the Jackals. Here was her enemy, her target, and the object of her Agency's undivided attention. Most importantly of all, though, here was her ticket home.


	17. Mood Swing

**Chapter 14: Mood Swing**

Later that night, Angelica was examined and treated for bruises in the infirmary. The wounds inflicted on her by Ciro Giacobbe turned out not to be wounds at all, as the bullets couldn't penetrate her flak jacket. Nevertheless, this incident was the closest that Angelica has come to dying in quite some time. No one was more surprised than she was, though, when she found herself perfectly calm about the situation.

As Angelica exited the infirmary tent, she found Claes waiting for her outside, sitting at a bench and reading a book about desert wildlife. Marco was nowhere to be seen, so she really had no reason to pretend that she was busy, therefore, Angelica came to the conclusion that her friend had regained the ability to enjoy her books.

"Hi Claes," Angelica chimed cheerily, "It's good to know you can read now." And then, suddenly realizing that what she had just said sounded a bit insulting, Angelica stammered, "I-I mean…"

"I know what you mean," Claes said without looking up from her book, "But unfortunately it's not quite true."

"How do you mean?"

In reply, Claes waved the book in her hand and said, "I think the only books I can read are the ones that have something to do with our mission, or our surroundings at the very least. For example, any book with gun violence in it or ones that take place in Africa are just fine for me to read. When I pick up anything else (poetry, comedies, tragedies, epics, for instance) reading it is just like trying to watch your favorite television show while there's a war going on in your living room. I _have_ to focus on the war and not the book… eh, television… you know what I mean."

"Hmm…" Angelica said musingly, "I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe once we get back to Italy, we could have the doctors reverse that for you."

Claes closed the book with a sigh. "This problem of mine wasn't the fault of the doctors back home," she said contemplatively, "It's… part of me. My own mind seems to be rebelling against itself. I can feel it."

Angie put a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder and said, "You're worrying too much. This will all be over soon, especially now that we have Giacobbe."

"Oh, that's right," Claes said, suddenly remembering why she had been waiting for Angelica, "Speaking of Giacobbe, that annoying little gnat is being interrogated by Marco, Faiz, and Hadi right now."

"Has he said anything useful?" asked Angelica.

"No, but he's been complaining incessantly. Apparently he thinks himself to be some amazing assassin, and he doesn't seem to know that Padania sent him on a suicide mission."

Angelica commented, "He wasn't completely incompetent when I fought him."

Claes scoffed, "Trust me, he's incompetent _and_ ignorant of that fact to boot. Now let's go, Marco wants us to be there while they talk with him. For an 'intimidating effect' he told me."

* * *

"We're not going to try negotiating with you for much longer, Giacobbe," Marco spoke sternly in Italian with hardened eyes and a hostile expression, "If you don't tell us what you know about the Jackal leader and his headquarters, we're going to have to resort to less favorable means of extracting that information from you."

Ciro Giacobbe, tied to a chair with his arms still handcuffed behind him and his legs strapped to the front chair legs, replied with as much hostility, "Go ahead and keep asking, and if you must, torture me. You will never get me to betray the Republican Faction." Blood dripped down his forehead from having it stomped into the concrete by Angelica, giving him a beaten and weathered look. Walking in on this conversation, one would first think that the three standing men that surrounded the seated one had beaten him during their questioning. In truth, Marco, Faiz, and Hadi had never laid a single finger on their detainee. Angelica had loaded him into the truck, Claes had offloaded him and dragged him into Faiz Junayd's hut, and the Desert Children had provided the chair along with the restraints. The fact that Claes may have "accidentally" dropped him every now and again when she was escorting the very loud, very annoying prisoner was inconsequential.

"Sir," Hadi al-Haidar tried pleading in French to the Padania agent's rational side, "We have no interest in harming you, so torture would be just as unpleasant for us as it would be for you."

Giacobbe, determined not to cooperate no matter what threats he was issued, or what promises he was given, responded to the police chief's genuine kindness by spitting on his shoes.

To this, Faiz Junayd placed a tight grip around the detainee's throat and forced him to make eye contact. He hissed angrily through his teeth in Arabic, "You filthy dog! My friend here may promise not to do you any harm, but that is only because he is an officer of the law. My men and I on the other hand," Faiz tightened his grip and the prisoner gasped in pain, "Have no problem making troublesome fools suffer."

"Faiz!" Hadi exclaimed as he pried the mercenary leader's grip from Ciro's throat, "We have to approach this delicately. If we push this man too far, he will refuse to negotiate!"

"We are not looking for negotiations," Junayd replied, "We just need to drag out whatever secrets this man is hiding."

As the two Algerian men continued to argue, Hadi urging his friend in French to be more tactful, and Faiz insisting in Arabic for a more aggressive approach, Marco attempted to continue the interrogation in Italian, shouting in an attempt to be heard above his bickering colleagues. "Giacobbe," he demanded loudly, "The Jackals…falling apart… troops… dead… businesses destroyed… as well cooperate!" The sheer volume of Faiz and Hadi's argument nearly drowned out everything that Marco was saying.

In the midst of it all, Ciro Giacobbe was looking from person to person in confusion with a thin line of dripping blood travelling from his forehead to his chin. Any initial stoicism he had was comically extinguished and replaced with helpless puzzlement.

This was the scene that Claes and Angelica walked in on; absolute chaos amongst adults behaving more like children than trained soldiers. Instead of piping in and adding to the disorder, the two cyborgs quietly sidled to the corner of the room and waited for the uproar to calm down. Eventually, though, when it seemed that there was no end in sight, Claes, having listened for five whole minutes of arguing in three different languages, whistled loudly, sharply. Instantly, all chaos stopped and all eyes were on her, so she took a breath to calm herself and said sternly, "I think this would go much more smoothly if we would _just pick a language_!"

A brief uncomfortable pause and silence ensued. Then there was an awkward shuffling, clearing of throats, quiet apologies and "it's-quite-alrights." The interrogator trio huddled together and whispered in order to get back on track. Finally, Marco, Hadi, and Faiz all seemed ready to take up their questioning of the prisoner once more.

Ready, that is, until Giacobbe chuckled mockingly and ridiculed Marco loudly. "You take orders from your own little monster," he jeered, "You're pathetic. _Fessacchione_!"

Marco simply stood and leered at Ciro, unfazed by the prisoner's admittedly pathetic attempt at provocation. He knew that losing his temper for such an insignificant insult would likely result in actions that would cause the Padania agent to withdraw completely. Despite the detainee's obstinacy, it was still very possible to get him to confess what he knew. However, that could very easily be changed with a few rash decisions.

Claes' reaction, though, was far more surprising, and just what the company needed if they wanted to lose hope of making Giacobbe talk. Whether it was because the prisoner was trying her patience, or because her mind was rebelling against itself, Claes didn't know, or care for that matter. She took several menacing steps toward the restrained agent, and struck him savagely in the midsection, causing him to grunt in sudden agony. Afterwards, she struck again and again, always in the same place, multiplying the damage exponentially with each punch. She gripped Giacobbe's hair tightly and pulled his face close to hers so she could hiss menacingly, "Cooperation, as well as a little good _behavior_," Claes gave a little tug, almost pulling out the clump of hair in her fist, "Are all we ask for." She struck him again.

Before Claes could fully resume her senseless onslaught, Marco called out commandingly to his cyborg, and at his tacit command, Angelica sprang forth and stayed her furious friend's hand, restraining her with an arm around Claes' waist. She struggled and squirmed, but Angelica pulled her away from Giacobbe, who had begun spitting up blood.

"Claes," Angelica pleaded with both desperation and heartache. The last thing she wanted was to see one of her sisters, usually completely calm and collected, lashing out the way Claes was now. "Claes, calm down! I don't know why you're mad, but _please_, just stop and think about what you might be costing us."

"Get her out of here!" Marco yelled furiously and Angie complied, dragging Claes, who now was only slightly calmer, out of the door and toward their tent where she might be able to cool off.

Once the sounds of struggling and shuffling had died down, Marco slowly and quietly approached Giacobbe as a bloodthirsty wolf would approach a wounded adversary. He knelt so that he could look up into the prisoner's downcast eyes. "While I disagree with my… 'little monster's' methods," he said in a calculatingly cold manner, "It's just as she said. A little cooperation and a little less lip," Marco paused so as to let the idea sink in, "And we won't need to resort…" he tapped his fist lightly on the prisoner's bruised midsection, "To this."

Giacobbe gave one last pitiful cough, and looked into Marco's eyes. A look drowned in fear and defeat. He hung his head again, eyes closed in unspoken compliance and the questions began once more.


	18. Of Innocence

**Chapter 15: Of Innocence**

"What happened, Claes?"

"I don't know! I just lost it. I… I just…"

Angelica, standing between Claes (sitting on her knees) and the tent flap, exhaled heavily with a mixture of fatigue and something akin to maternal concern. Like a mother speaking to her child after they'd misbehaved. She crossed her arms and tilted her head helplessly, but allowed Claes to continue.

"I told you Angie, my mind's rebelling against me. I'm starting to lose the control I once had, and…" she stopped abruptly, hesitating to finish her sentence.

"Well?" Angelica coaxed her friend expectantly.

"…And I'm scared, alright? I admit that I'm afraid. I admit that I'm vulnerable."

Angelica nodded in approval and said simply, "Good. So am I." She added with a tone seeking to rally her friend back to focus, "But Marco and I need you to stay in control. The end of the road is right there. All you have to do, all I'm asking you to do, is to get there with us."

Claes stared in open-mouthed disbelief. This was already the second time Angelica had to console her, but that didn't make it any less amazing. "Thank you, Angie," she said simply and quietly.

At that moment, the tent flap parted and Marco ducked in, looking surprisingly composed in light of Claes' unreasonable actions. He looked from Angelica, who gave the slightest, almost undetectable of nods, to Claes, who did the same. Finally, after being assured that both cyborgs were at attention (and amply cooled off), Marco announced, "He talked."

Claes jumped to her feet in shock and asked incredulously, "Why?"

"Thankfully," Marco answered, "Giacobbe was one of those arrogant people whose only true skills are their self preservation abilities. He told us he could take torture, but he was only feigning courage."

"What did he tell you?" Angelica asked.

"According to Giacobbe, the leader of the Jackals is Qadir Khalid, a war criminal born from the chaos of the civil war. Hadi says he's heard of Khalid, and that he is well versed in both conventional and nonconventional warfare, having received instruction and training from the military. That's why the Jackals are so organized compared to some of the other mercenary groups in this area. Under anyone else's command, they would be running around like fools, attracting attention and heat from the government. However, he has a kind of pact with the military, offering to take on jobs of illegal nature and in return the government looks the other way when the Jackals operate. Smuggling, assassinations, kidnapping, you name it, Khalid's done it."

"Sounds tough," Claes said reflectively, "But if killing him is my objective, I'll gladly do it."

Angelica questioned Marco, "Did Giacobbe tell us how to find Qadir Khalid?"

"If what the prisoner said is true, Khalid is meeting with some politicians in two days, apparently negotiating the absorption of the Jackals with the military. If that happens, then he and all of his men become untouchable and the mission becomes impossible to complete. Further interference with the Jackals at that point…" he trailed off due to the weight of the possible consequences.

"Then Italy would be at war with Algeria," Claes finished grimly.

Marco nodded, "That's right, and that's why we have to act as quickly as possible and make sure that whatever we do can't be traced back to Italy, just in case."

"What about the Jackal headquarters," inquired Angelica, "If we stage an assault before the convention, we can take Khalid out then."

"Unfortunately," Marco replied, "Giacobbe doesn't know where the HQ is. His contact in this country was taking him there when we abducted him."

"That makes sense," Claes commented, "After all, why would the Jackals tell Padania where their base is? That's completely irrelevant to their relationship."

"In that case…" Angelica began to sound worried, "…We have to disrupt the convention?"

Marco nodded, "That's right."

Both of the cyborgs were stunned. Ordinarily, Marco would choose a far more careful solution to this situation. "Wouldn't that be an act of war in and of itself?" Claes tried reasoning.

"Like I said, we need to conduct an assassination that can't be traced back to us. The press is going to be there, and even with body armor and masks, we'll most likely stick out. Not only that, but our weaponry would probably distinguish us from Algerian mercenaries. In addition, the military will be overseeing the meeting along with Jackal troops. Conducting a traditional armed assault would be suicidal."

Claes' hands became numb and she started to shake. Her eyes widened in fear. _I don't like where this is going_, she thought to herself.

Angelica was the one to ask the fearful question, "What… are we going to do then?"

Marco considered how to tell the girls his plan. Finally, though, he decided simply to be honest with them. "The easiest, most efficient way to do this…" (The cyborgs braced themselves), "…Would be to plant a car bomb near the site of the convention and detonate it as Khalid exits his vehicle."

"No!" Claes immediately objected, "Anything but that, Marco, we _can't_ sink that low!"

"What other choice do we have?" Marco posed the rhetorical question, "What do you propose we do, Claes?"

"We can tail Khalid back to his base and plan a massive assault. Pool all of our resources into one final push against the Jackals. Pin down their leader inside of his own shelter and flood it with Desert Children and bullets."

"Claes, you don't think Khalid will notice when he's being followed? And besides, like I said, we need to act _before_ the convention, not after."

"So you want to kill a war criminal by _becoming_ a war criminal? Marco there are going to be innocent people there and-"

"And," Marco cut Claes short, "Those people are none of our concern."

Claes couldn't believe what she was hearing. "What are you talking about?"

"What I mean is that we should be concerned with our own people. Italy and the Agency are counting on Operation Far-Flung to stop the Padanian advance, so the lives of an Algerian camera crew or two should not bother us at all."

"Marco," Angelica pleaded, taking a stand against her handler for the first time, "What Claes wants to say is that this is not about race or patriotism. What you are asking is to think of the loss of innocent lives as a side effect of our mission, when in reality these people have nothing to do with Padania, the Jackals, or us."

"Angelica…" Marco said in astonishment, but he quickly recovered, shaking his head and becoming unshakeable once more. "As cruel as it sounds, their deaths are for a greater cause."

Suddenly, Claes took a step forward, assuming an expression of confidence and grim resolve, "Send me."

Both Angie and Marco looked dumbfounded at Claes and exclaimed in unison, "W-what?!"

"I'm the one that's been repeatedly defying your orders because of their questionable morality, so I should be the one to take action on behalf of the people that I'm trying to protect from you."

Marco growled impatiently, "Claes, I told you, we can't have this traced back to-"

It was Claes' turn to interrupt Marco. "You've seen my dossier, Marco. Eight completed missions and not one of them a failure. Out of those eight, five involved some form of assassination, and every single assassination was done in highly populated areas. You know I can do this, and you know that sending me would be the safest course of action."

"Claes," Marco said becoming suddenly very much like a true commanding officer, "Of late you've been emotionally and mentally unstable, unfocused, inefficient, and generally unreliable. You were at your peak under Raballo's command, but now that your mind has been damaged by the Agency's hypnosis, you are unfit to undertake a solo assassination. It's just a chance that we can't take, especially in this crucial time."

Angelica tried to talk her friend out of going into an almost certainly suicidal mission. "Claes, I'm as much against the bombing method as you are, but if your alternative is to pit yourself against an army… I just can't allow myself to support you."

Claes didn't reply to Marco's analysis of her condition, or to Angelica's renounced loyalty, and simply pretended as if they weren't completely against her plot. "All I need," she said to Marco, "Is for you to pick a vantage point and plant a sniper rifle on location for me. I may not be 'stable' as you say, but the mission is the foremost thing on my mind. It's all I can think about, dream about, and read about. Just ask Angie, she can support me on that at least." This last statement was accompanied by an icy cold glare at Angelica, causing her to hang her head in red hot shame, and, consequently, in confirmation as well.

Marco stopped to think about Claes' plan. She seemed confident enough, and her record reflected the high chance that she did know what she was talking about. Her breakdowns were few and far between, and he did notice that on the field Claes was usually as attentive and professional as she had been when they first arrived in Algeria. However, off the field, she was often forgetful, neglectful of duties, and uncharacteristically scatter-brained. All things considered, however, using Claes really _was_ the safest way to accomplish this mission. One operative could move a lot more easily through tight security than a squad of them. And besides, Marco had no idea how the Social Welfare Agency would react if he did decide to go through with the bombing. They couldn't possibly cover it up, because that would immediately send a red flag up to the government, which would likely lead to an investigation of Section Two. First and foremost, Operation Far-Flung had to remain a secret.

"Claes," Marco began slowly, the cold, metallic edge gone from his voice, "How sure are you that you can eliminate the target?"

"Marco!" Angelica cried out in alarm. She was immediately hushed when Marco raised his hand, calling for silence so that Claes' answer could be clearly heard.

Claes' gaze didn't waver, didn't falter, and remained one of absolute resolve. "Sir," she said, her voice perfectly level and calm, "I am certain that Qadir Khalid will be killed by my hand."

Marco nodded. "Good," he said, "Report to Faiz and Hadi. They will provide you with a map of the area. It may be night, and the convention may be three days away, but you need to plan your attack as soon as possible."

"Yes sir," Claes replied grimly and headed for the tent flap.

However, before she could leave, Angelica grasped Claes' wrist and begged her, tears welling in her eyes, "Please… don't do this."

Claes gently shook her wrist out of her friend's hand, and clapped her own on Angie's shoulder. "Eight missions," Claes said with an air of sorrow, the voice of one who is near death, "Eight completed missions and not one of them failed. This, Operation Far-Flung, that is, will be my Ninth, my last, make no mistake about that. Still, I would rather I choose how my road ends. If my life ends in the battlefield, then so be it. It was the death designed for us, after all. However, if I can, I will try to make it back to Italy…" here, Claes threw a sidelong glance filled with untold knowledge at Marco, "…Where I know it will still, invariably, end."

Angelica was confused, and who could blame her? How was she to know that her friend was now a walking dead? That because she was forced to remember the things that she was originally forced to forget, she could not be allowed to live?

Claes turned once more to the tent flap, but paused. "And Marco," she said staring straight ahead through the tent, past the Desert Children, across the desert, over the ocean, and to a dark, dusty miniature library that hadn't been touched in weeks, "Since you brought up the topic of Raballo, I thought it would be appropriate to let you know…" Claes dragged her eyes away from the far-off library and into Marco's widening, horror-filled eyes, "…That on the day of his…'accident', he was just trying to protect the innocent. Just as I am doing now." And with this final sentiment, Claes left the tent to plan for Fate.

"So she does know," Marco whispered to himself, still stunned with fear, "Forgive me Claes. If it's any consolation, I've already asked for Raballo's forgiveness long ago."


	19. Suicide Prevention

**Chapter 16: Suicide Prevention**

Sabri, the young Desert Child that had mouthed off to Claes when she had first arrived, stood quivering and jittery some three hundred yards away from the DC encampment, a watermelon balanced shakily in his hand, outstretched away from him. He was sweating fiercely, but not because of the desert heat, for he was used to that. However, what he was not used to was the idea of waiting in the open for somebody to shoot at him.

Suddenly, the watermelon exploded, rind and juices scattering in every imaginable direction. Sabri, of course, flinched in frightened surprise, his face taking on a laughable expression as he turned it away from the exploding melon as if to protect himself from nonexistent shrapnel. He screwed his eyes tight shut and his jaw clenched, baring his teeth and letting out a pathetic squeak of fright.

Once he had recovered, Sabri raised a two-way radio in his other hand and yelled into it angrily, "Dammit, _Chirpy_, can't you aim a little higher? I swear I felt the bullet fly over my hand!"

The radio crackled to life and Claes' voice came through. "If you're trying to talk right now," she said in a subtly mocking tone, "I can't hear you. You have to press the button on the side while you talk." Then she muttered quite audibly, purposefully keeping the talk button depressed, "_Idiota_."

Sabri heard the insult, but didn't understand it. "What was th-" he started, but realized that he still wasn't working the radio correctly. He quickly found and pressed the talk button, and then sputtered into the communicator, "What was that, Chirpy?! Do you have something that you want to say to me?!"

Claes, lying prone on one of the Desert Children's dining tables on the outskirts of the encampment watched Sabri through the scope of her Barrett (this time on its bipod) and listened to him yell and complain through the radio lying next to her. The boy had not changed at all, despite the embarrassment he faced the last time he misbehaved. Actually, it was probably _because_ of that embarrassment that he chose not to correct his ways. Sabri still mocked Claes' French (hence the nickname "Chirpy") as well as the way she dressed and for even pettier reasons such as the way she walked. Claes didn't feel at all bitter though. She knew he was still only a child with minimal to no combat experience. In fact, she envied him, because she knew that combat hardens the soul and dulls one's sense of humanity. It gave combatants fewer reasons to live.

"I don't wanna do this anymore, Chirpy," Sabri groaned through the radio, suddenly tired, "I still have five watermelons here, but I'm sure you'll end up killing me by the time we get to the third."

Claes rolled her eyes and answered him, "Fine, _vigliacco_, take your melons and go back to lying to your friends about how many people you've killed."

Sabri's voice came through, sounding offended, "I wasn't lying! I really _have_ killed twenty people!"

"Yeah, it was fifteen last time, but you haven't even stepped foot outside of the encampment since then. _Bugiardo_."

"Enough with the Italian, Chirpy, I get it. You're so much better than we are because you can afford nice clothes and brand new guns, right?" Sabri shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm as he approached with the five un-sniped melons loaded into a small red wagon.

Claes became suddenly outraged at Sabri's insinuations. "Take that back, _right now_!" she shouted across the desert, not even bothering to use her radio.

Sabri, however, didn't have the energy or verve to yell back, so his voice crackled through the communicator, "No need to get so fired up. I was joking… kind of. You misplace your glasses, or what?"

Claes took several deep breaths to calm herself before she broke down again, but that didn't make the furrowed scowl or angry frown go away. She distracted herself by gathering her discarded magazines and unused ammunition. Once she had gotten everything cleaned up and organized in the Barrett's storage crate, she shouldered the rifle itself and made her way toward the DC stockpile to stow it all away. Claes completely ignored Sabri, who, meanwhile, had caught up and was now trying his best to keep in stride with her.

The silence between them was tangible, Claes refusing to speak because she was offended and Sabri refusing because he was afraid. Finally, however, the latter tried to strike up a conversation. "Y'know Chirpy, despite being covered in sticky watermelon guts and almost getting shot by you," he said awkwardly, "I was impressed with your shooting. It was fun, huh?"

Claes didn't reply. She kept her eyes forward, back erect and rigid, but not revealing any sort of emotion. Despite the anger boiling within her, Claes was perfectly picturesque, like the most exquisite of marble statues… except in motion.

Sabri groaned at what he was about to say, but to his credit he had the courage to say it, albeit quite clumsily. "I'm sorry Tali… Chirpy," he said, electing at the last moment to stick with his own rude nickname for Claes rather than the respectful one given to her by the other Desert Children. When he still was not given a response, Sabri continued his apology. "What I said before… I did not mean it. I know why you are choosing to kill Qadir Khalid by yourself, and when I said what I did, I was not thinking about that."

"Sabri…" Claes almost whispered, but, unlike the boy, Claes wasn't at all ashamed of what she was going to utter, "I underestimated you."

At that moment, having reached an area behind a tent where no other Desert Child could see the two children, Sabri abruptly ran ahead of Claes and stood in her path. "Let me come with you on your assassination assignment," he said in a tone that could easily have been mistaken for that of insanity.

Claes wasn't the least bit surprised. Sabri, simply by agreeing earlier that day to hold the watermelons off in the distance for Claes' target practice, revealed to her that he took at least some kind of interest in her new objective. Despite not being affected by the Desert Child's request, Claes posed the all-important question, "Why?"

"It's the least I can do," Sabri replied, "For mocking you so much, I have to redeem myself in some way. You still have two days until Khalid's convention, so you should be able to work me into your plans. Let me help you accomplish your objective. If I can do this, then I know I have done something good with my life."

Claes smirked and said, "It may be the _last_ thing you do with your life as well. I can't bring you with me. You may think that you have something to prove, but you don't. Not yet, that is, because you're too young. How old are you again?"

"Thirteen."

"In that case, yes, you are too young."

"Taliba," Sabri said, for the first time addressing Claes in a remotely considerate manner, "I don't think you realize what you are doing for our people, just by deciding to take this mission. They respect you. _We_ respect you. You are choosing to protect innocent Algerians, even if it means risking your own life, and for that… any of us would die for you."

"And if that happened," Claes responded, "It would mean my efforts were in vain. And besides, what would you do if I did bring you with me? This was designed to be a solo operation."

"Do you honestly believe," Sabri asked, "That Qadir Khalid will simply step out of his car and allow you to shoot him? No! He will no doubt be surrounded by his bodyguards, who will obstruct your line of fire. If you let me join you, I can make a distraction and-"

"And what?" Claes interrupted, "Get yourself killed? Listen, _pazzo_, I know what you want. You don't want to be a mercenary anymore, so you want to die, but you don't want to die shamefully, do you?" Claes' assumptions were harsh and difficult for anyone to swallow, but she persisted. "You figure," she said, her voice suddenly taking a chilling edge, "That if you get yourself killed in battle, then your name will be praised by your brothers-in-arms. Am I right?"

Sabri's mouth was agape at the outrageous, yet accurate accusations issuing from seemingly nowhere in Claes' imaginations. He had no way of denying them, and he made no attempt to defend himself, or cover it up. He stuttered, "H-how can you t-t-tell?"

Claes' brow furrowed further, but there was no triumph in her voice from her correct hypothesis. She answered the boy's question with a quiet, yet steely voice, "Because I've had… experience with suicidal people." An image of a girl with blond ponytails and one eye flashed before her eyes, and in her head she heard a distant, yet familiar voice cry, "_We are all going to die_!"

Sabri's eyes widened and he was having trouble swallowing his own saliva. He managed to whisper his affirmation, "I'm afraid. Of the killing. Of the blood. I'm afraid of it all. I don't want to be here anymore. I want to be somewhere, anywhere else but here."

The expression on Claes' face had hardened into a mask and showed no signs of changing anytime soon. This façade of cold, unfeeling, malicious understanding made her following actions all the more terrifying. She raised the Barrett, holding it in one hand, and placed the barrel on Sabri's forehead. She took her finger off of the trigger guard and onto the trigger itself. The only change in her demeanor was the fact that her mouth had become nothing but a thin line, a slit, underneath her nose.

"Wh-what are you doing?!" the boy stammered.

"Sabri," Claes hissed without emotion, "Do you have it in you to take a bullet and fight on?" She pushed the Barrett forward as Sabri stumbled back in fear. "Do you have it in you to forget about your wounds and preserve not only your life, but the lives of your comrades as well?" Claes kept advancing and Sabri kept retreating. "Do you," she asked once more, "Have what it takes to pull yourself out of the Inferno?"

The boy's fear suddenly gave way, as so often happens in cases such as this, to rage. He clenched his jaw and slapped the barrel of the massive rifle away from his temple, shouting at Claes, "What does that have to do with anything?! I told you, I just don't want to fight! If this is the case, how could I _possibly_ be able to do all of these things that you want me to do?!"

Finally, Claes' mask cracked and became relaxed as she exhaled, letting go of her scowl and frown. She almost chuckled aloud as she said, "I didn't say I wanted you to do any of that, I was just asking you if you _could_."

Sabri stared stupidly in confusion, unaware that Claes' performance was simply a test and further testament to her natural dramatic capabilities.

"And…" Claes continued, waving her rifle, "Since the barrel of this weapon is no longer pressed against your face," she permitted the ghost of her smile to appear on her lips, "I would say that you really do have the potential to get yourself out of that Inferno."

"Taliba…" Sabri started, but was interrupted by Claes' raised hand.

"You were born on the battlefield, surrounded and raised by soldiers. That makes you a soldier too. Trust me on this, Sabri, because I should know. Both Basma and I were reborn, our country transformed into a battlefield over night. We were raised and trained by soldiers and look where we are now." Claes clapped her hand on Sabri's shoulder and continued, "You shouldn't be afraid. You have everything that your brothers-in-arms have taught you. That and their support should be able to get you out of almost anything. Long story short: stick with your comrades and you'll live. Come with me, and you'll die."

Claes stepped past Sabri who was still stunned, and continued on her way to the Desert Children's stockpile to store her Barrett. She threw one last backward glance as she left, though, and said half-teasingly, "Oh, and if you want to die…" These old words reverberated through time, recalling that day when she and the other girls had visited Angelica in the hospital after a botched operation. This time, though, Claes didn't say them bitterly, or with any malicious intent. She said these words to remind herself of who she was and what she had to do; of whom she was fighting for and why. The glasses on her nose were additional reminders, the weight of them on her ears carrying her sacred promise.

"…Then kill yourself." She waved backwards at Sabri, leaving him to absorb the fact that Claes had just saved his life.


	20. Preparations and Revelations

**Chapter 17: Preparations and Revelations**

"Claes," Angelica said, "I agree with Sabri on this. He may be young, but he's right. It would be safer for you to take a diversionary team with you." She then added sneakily, "And if you're worried about the lives of the diversionary team, then I can accompany them. I promise nothing will happen to any of your DC support if I go with them."

Claes, lying on her stomach on the floor of their tent, looked up from the map of the area around the court room in Algiers where her target's convention was to take place the following day. She gave her sister a look that gave an absolute and inflexible, "No!" Feeling that the look alone was sufficient, Claes silently returned her attention to the map and the upcoming operation.

Angelica threw her hands up in exasperation. "I don't believe you," she exclaimed, "Since you accepted this op you haven't eaten or slept and you've barely even said a word to me. Believe me Claes I'm glad you're back to the way you used to be. I really am. But I'm worried about you."

"Angie," Claes sighed, looking up from her map once more, "You sound like a distraught mother."

Angelica almost laughed. "I _feel_ like a distraught mother," she replied. After a pause and a little lip biting, Angie soon groaned, "At least tell me you have a plan."

Claes sighed again and motioned for Angelica to look at the map spread across the floor. She pointed to a building circled with a red marker. "This," Claes explained, "Is the courtroom. The X here," she slid her finger a fraction of an inch to the west, "Indicates where the VIPs are going to enter from." Claes' finger moved further west until it rested next to a location twice the distance away from the courtroom as Sabri's distance during yesterday's target practice. "Hadi has booked the entire top floor of the hotel here and has even planted the Barrett in the room on the east, facing the court. It's the tallest building within sniping range of the target's predicted location. Hadi has warned me, though, that he wasn't able to clear the hotel of security forces that will be sweeping and patrolling the entire complex."

Angelica interrupted, "That's where your diversionary team comes in, right?"

"Wrong," Claes answered without humor, "I plan to ascend to the top floor, silently eliminating any of the armed personnel there. Since some of those security forces are Algerian military, however, Marco has restricted me from killing any of them unless I can confirm that they are Jackal troops."

"What do you mean by 'silently eliminating'?" Angelica questioned in suspicion.

"I mean by disarming and dispatching them by hand," Claes answered unflinchingly.

"_Dio mio_! What if you're detected? Your VP70M would alert anyone nearby."

In answer, Claes produced a small firearm case that had been lying on the floor next to her and opened it, showing the contents to Angelica. "Marco has given me a Beretta 93R, complete with detachable shoulder stock and sound suppressor. It should be an improvement to my VP70 in terms of stealth capabilities."

Angelica blinked in surprise. "But they don't make those anymore," she commented, "Did Marco find that in the SWA armory?"

Claes shrugged and said, "I don't know where he found it, but it doesn't matter to me. The point is that I should be able to operate it just fine with its selective fire capabilities thanks to the practice I've gotten from my H&K. That doesn't mean that I'm getting rid of my VP70, though. It's too important to me."

Angelica, knowing that her friend would be decently armed with a weapon and the element of surprise, felt slightly reassured. But only slightly. "So where do you go from there?"

"After incapacitating the security forces…" Claes concluded, "…I take the shot."

Angelica's jaw drooped open slightly. "That's it? Do you think it will be that easy? What about your exit strategy?"

Claes replied gravely, "I don't see any point in making an exit strategy when I know that there's no way for me to escape after the target's been assassinated."

"Claes…" Angelica started sounding injured. She was interrupted, however, when Marco entered the tent. Behind him, the girls could see that the stars had risen in the sky along with a sliver of moon. Judging by the moon's height, the hour was getting very late.

"Claes," he said in his typically stern and commanding way, "You'll be leaving for Algiers first thing in the morning. I need you rested and ready before then, so get some sleep."

"Yes, sir," Claes responded. She then proceeded to fold the map, stash the Beretta's case away, and crawl into her sleeping bag, all without a word. Lastly, she removed her glasses, closed her eyes, and easily fell to sleep. Quick, mechanical, efficient. That was Claes to a T, even on the eve of her predicted end.

Angelica watched her friend's final preparations in silence, her eyes reflecting her old sorrow and helplessness. She was watching Claes get ready to sacrifice herself for the Agency's cause. She couldn't help it anymore, Angelica needed to speak up. As she looked back to the tent flap, however, she found that Marco was no longer standing there. She followed him out into the night.

* * *

Marco couldn't bear to watch as Claes fell asleep, for he knew that the next morning would likely be her last. He felt as if he was sending a beloved sheep to the slaughter, and images of Claes' possible death recalled images of Raballo as well…

"Marco," a tiny voice squeaked behind him, shattering his regretful trance. It was Angelica. "I… need to talk with you."

As the handler gazed at his senior cyborg, the girl that had been by his side for several years now, he noticed for the first time the bite of the cold desert wind at night and the silent loneliness of the wide open sand dunes. Angelica's fears for her sister awakened the hidden fears in Marco. Fears of isolation. Fears of being alone. He used to hate these fears, thinking that they made him weak if he acknowledged them. However, now, in the presence of his Angel and her uncertainties in the harshness of the Grand Erg Occidental, Marco knew that his phobias and worries were the only things keeping him alive. After all how else could Angelica, who once was overflowing with doubts, have survived?

Angie stammered in the fearful and doubtful way that had been her speech pattern in Italy, before coming to Algeria and changing, "C-can we take a walk? It would keep us warm."

Marco nodded and answered, "Sure Angie. Come on." He started walking and Angelica fell in step by his side. "What do you need to speak with me about?" he asked, as Angelica was coming off as hesitant and unsure.

"About… Claes," Angelica replied, "But also about what she said to you the night she accepted the assassination operation."

"About Raballo?" Marco asked for clarification.

"Yes," Angie answered, "I know Raballo was Claes' original handler, but I don't remember him for some reason, and the way she said what she did that night… well it made me think that the two of you were connected somehow."

Marco's mind was rife once again with snapshots from his past; snapshots of a balding, middle-aged man in a red shirt, lying next to a cane in the middle of the street in a pool of blood. Marco didn't know if he could bear telling the truth to Claes, but he felt even worse about telling it to Angelica. Finally, however, he decided that he couldn't have his partner remain ignorant of not only his past, but her own as well. "Captain Raballo," he began slowly, "Was killed, according to the Social Welfare Agency and Italian government, in a hit-and-run incident several years ago. This is a lie."

Angelica was puzzled and grossly captivated at the same time. "What happened to him, then?"

"There was an incident," Marco continued, "In the Agency's firing range. Raballo and Jose had a standoff concerning a jammed weapon. During that standoff, Henrietta perceived a threat to her handler, and was prepared to react accordingly. At that point, Claes did the same. Thankfully, no one was injured, but Raballo was terribly shaken by the way the two girls had behaved, and so, under the pretense of taking a temporary leave of absence, had begun to talk with a friend of his, a reporter."

"About the Social Welfare Agency?!" Angelica asked in astonishment.

Marco nodded. "That's right," he said, and resumed his tale, "Raballo was prepared to divulge secrets of the Agency to this reporter because he was so devastated with the experiences that the cyborgs were forced to face. It was out of this devastation, as well as his love for Claes, that the promise between them was born."

_Claes' glasses!_ Angelica thought inwardly, but felt that it was redundant to voice her observation aloud. "Go on," she said.

"Unfortunately for Raballo, this reporter was located by the government. His family was abducted and held hostage, and he was forced to give up Raballo's location. That's when the death warrant for the Captain was issued."

Angelica was speechless. She had no idea that the memories locked within Claes were this powerful and painful. Even more horrifying, however, was what she knew was coming next. She may have been naïve in the past, but she knew how to put two and two together. "And this death warrant," she whispered, her voice shaking, "Was… was…" She found that she couldn't voice the terrible revelation to follow.

"The death warrant," Marco decided to save his cyborg from the pain of saying it, "Was enforced by me."

Angelica shook her head. She and her handler had stopped walking, the cold of the desert night couldn't compare to the chill in their souls. "You mean," she said, "By us."

"Yes, Angelica," Marco sighed, voice almost trembling like his cyborg's, "We were the ones responsible for what's happened to Claes. You don't remember any of this though because it was wiped from your mind as soon as the scientists decided that instead of 'recycling' Claes, they were going to keep her in the dormitories. In your proximity. This way, with both of you reconditioned, there would be no friction between the two of you."

But there _had_ been friction. Angelica didn't want to let Marco know this. She didn't want to tell him of the time when she had cried and Claes had struck her. "_If you want to die_," Claes had told her only a year ago, "_Then kill yourself_." At the time, Angelica was indignant for what had happened. She thought it was unfair of Claes to react the way she did. Now, knowing that she was the one who had killed Raballo, Angie couldn't help but think that she had deserved it; that Claes' anger had flared up not because of Angelica's despairing words, but because of a part of her mind that _knew_ of everything that Marco had just told Angelica. Perhaps a part of Claes' mind had failed at the time to be erased by the Agency?

The night suddenly felt very hostile, and extremely desolate. Angelica and Marco stood in the middle of the unusually still Desert Child encampment. As the mercenaries slept, they were ignorant of the fact that a small Italian Seeker of Knowledge was giving her life away for their people. However, Angelica and Marco knew, and to them, that was all that mattered. To them, the most important thing was that they were praying for the girl whose second life they had taken away.

* * *

Fleda Claes Johansson dozed in her tent. For her this night there were no dreams. There were only memories and reflections to think upon. Musings of the gift of intellect and the man responsible for her own. Silent, thoughtful, pensive. This was Claes to a T, even on the eve of her predicted end.


	21. Departure

**Chapter 18: Departure**

The sun rose (a little too quickly and eagerly for Claes' taste) and the day came, but it had arrived too late to see her off. She was already bouncing in the passenger's seat of one of the many multitudes of trucks that the Desert Children had collected during their campaign against the Jackals when the first sleepy pink rays broke over the Algerian horizon. Claes sat in utter silence, her mind trying to multitask by both praying and mulling over her life simultaneously. She had nothing to live for now. Her life had been thrown away, her caution and worries seemed as if they no longer had anything to do with her, and to top it off she wasn't thinking at all about tomorrow. And why should she? After all, Claes didn't plan on living that much longer, and because of this, the threat she posed to anyone in her way multiplied to unimaginable, vomit-inducing heights.

Somewhere in Algiers, the head of security that was planning for the upcoming conference felt a cold, foreboding chill run inexplicably up his spine.

As she sat in the truck, Claes could feel every little rock and bump that caused even the slightest jounce in the vehicle. She could smell the oil that she had used to clean her new pistol, hear the tiniest, most insignificant creatures of the desert scurrying about in their blissful ignorance, and could taste the cold metallic blood that she hadn't even spilt yet. It seemed to Claes that life was only at its most vivid and vibrant when it was almost over. She decided to use these new senses of hers to review her last moments in the Desert Children encampment…

* * *

"…and once you've made contact with… Claes! Are you listening?" Marco barked sternly, looking here and there in search of the lost cyborg.

Claes poked her head around a parked truck. She and Marco had been walking through a maze of them, because for some unknown reason, the Desert Children felt the need to park them in the most random, movement-hindering way possible. "Of course I'm listening," Claes answered, "I just got a little lost. Have the DC ever seen a parking lot in their lives? And while I understand why we stole their bombs and other weapons, did we absolutely _have_ to take every Jackal-owned vehicle we set our sights on?"

"That's not important," Marco replied impatiently, "Now come on, we don't have much time. It's almost sunrise."

Claes obeyed, keeping in step with Marco and trying to ignore him as he went over her mission for the tenth time. The twinkling stars were still visible, but the moon was low and dim now as the sun approached ever closer. It was perhaps two, maybe three hours away from sunrise. Claes shook her head and scowled slightly as she watched her time slip away in its inversely proportional relationship with the dawning of the day.

"Do you have your equipment?" Marco asked once, and then twice when Claes didn't respond.

"Hmm?" the cyborg said absent-mindedly, "Oh, yes." She lifted her short-sleeve T-shirt to reveal the Beretta in its holster strapped to the back of her olive cargo shorts. Marco wanted her to blend in as much as a little Italian girl in Algeria possibly could, but somehow his efforts seemed to be halfhearted at the most.

Marco took but a glance at the weapon's location before he asked critically, "What are you going to do when the military personnel pat you down?"

Claes didn't miss a beat. "Probably punch them in the throat," she said drily and without so much as looking at Marco.

The handler clicked his tongue and said disapprovingly, "That's no good, Claes. It would be best if you could start the violence _after_ you take the shot. Otherwise, you're just taking unnecessary risks."

Claes tried to keep her tone under control when she answered, "Well, it wouldn't be smart of me to be toting an expensive handbag in these clothes, and besides that, even if I did have some kind of container to keep my weapon in, any half-competent security officer could find it."

"So you're deciding that it's better to keep the weapon within reaching distance if they're going to find it no matter what you do?"

Claes nodded without uttering a word.

"Claes," Marco said in a way that reminded the cyborg very much of the way Angelica had been speaking to her recently, "Could you at least _try_ to stay alive? Just because the odds are against you, doesn't mean you should just give it all up. Do you think this is the way Raballo would have wanted you to handle this situation?"

At the mention of Raballo, Claes felt her jaw tighten involuntarily, but she let the slight go without breaking her stride. "I believe," she said slowly, "That Raballo wouldn't have wanted me to be in this situation in the first place."

Marco couldn't argue with her. She was absolutely right after all, and so he decided to diffuse the situation by saying, suddenly very calm and apologetic, "Let's just not start this again. I know you know all about what happened, but let's focus on the matter at hand for now. There will be plenty of time to talk about the past later."

"I honestly hope so," Claes said, mostly to herself. She too deemed argument at this point to be a waste of energy. She tired enough as it is.

Marco looked at his watch. "It's 0500 now. If you're ready to leave, then find Hadi, as he'll be your field correspondent for this operation. He should be out front, near the firing range."

Claes breathed deeply and swerved off in the direction indicated by Marco. However, she paused suddenly and for a reason unknown to her. She felt as if Marco wanted to tell her something, though he made no indication of this.

Then, as if Claes had foreseen the moment a second earlier, Marco sighed and said, "Claes…" He trailed off, waiting for her reply.

Claes rotated her head halfway and then moved her eyes to look at Marco. The rest of her body stayed planted where it was, facing away from him. Other than this, she didn't say anything to show that she was listening. Her posture was proof enough.

"…Just… don't take too long. Angelica will be – _we_ will be waiting for you," he said with an averted gaze.

The fact that Marco was clearly torn between uttering a touching goodbye and being a typically stern and officious commanding officer actually made Claes smile for the first time in days. She knew exactly what he had meant to say, of course, and honestly, she was slightly moved. After all, there are few moments when Marco Togni is willing to swallow his pride and even fewer people that he's willing to do it for. It was because of this and not because of indifference that Claes replied by not replying. She simply smiled and walked away, leaving Marco with his pride intact, though half-digested.

As Claes made her way to the shooting range, she couldn't help but notice that there was still one other person that she hadn't said goodbye to and in fact she hadn't seen her since the night before. Claes had expected Angelica to be following her from the moment she left the tent, but when she had woken up, Angelica was nowhere to be found and the encampment was as still and lifeless as if it had been abandoned. Claes didn't think much of this, though. She knew Angelica would turn up eventually, and now that it was the last possible second, Claes predicted that she would turn up now.

And then, Lo! and behold, when Claes finally managed to find her way out of the massive labyrinth of tan-colored trucks, she saw Angelica, looking very distraught and upset, talking in hushed tones with Hadi al-Haidar. As Claes approached, Hadi spotted her and waved, smiling, while Angelica looked away hurriedly, seeming to be organizing something in her head.

Hadi clapped his large hand in a friendly manner on Claes' shoulder. "My girl," he said jovially, "What you are doing here is nothing short of a blessing. To me, you are a saint. I thank you for your sacrifice, and I only wish you would allow your friend here," he turned his head toward Angelica who was still performing her mental preparations, "To intervene and help you. But I have told her already that if she were to join you, Marco alone would remain, and although he is a good man and a strong leader, my old friend is helpless without the two of you."

Hadi laughed, trying to coax Claes to do the same, but the most she could manage was a slight, halfhearted smile. He sighed, quickly becoming slightly more somber but still smiling, and said, "I will wait in the truck. For now, Basma needs you. Speak with her; let her know that you will be fine, even if you yourself do not think so." With this, Hadi vanished behind the awaiting truck, started the engine, and just sat and waited.

Claes looked at Angelica, whose back was still turned toward her. At first, she wanted to wait until Angie said what she wanted to say, but suddenly Claes felt the urge to give her mind its voice. "Angelica-" she started, but stopped suddenly. It was only now that she noticed that Angelica's shoulders were quaking and trembling. Claes could hear her sniffling.

Angelica finally gathered the strength to turn around. She looked Claes in the eyes proudly, through the tears of her premature mourning, and yet, despite this display of her new strength, Angelica still couldn't keep herself from shaking. She spoke, "Claes… I'm sorry for m-making you take care o-of me all this time. I-I was so selfish, but y-you were still there for me. You a-always were."

Angelica's sniffling slowed and she seemed to draw confidence from some unknown source the way everyone who speaks from their hearts do. "I've c-counted on you for years and you never s-said a word about it. You never asked me for a-anything. I want to thank you Claes… for being there for me." She wiped her eyes, her sniffling stopped completely. She managed a smile and a joke, "But I also want you to know that you're being an idiot for doing this."

Claes frowned. She told her friend, "Angelica, the time when I had to take care of you is long past. You have nothing to apologize for, because you're my sister, and I live to take care of you." When Claes' statements were met with doubtful silence by Angelica, she told her, "You're so much stronger than I am now, but you don't want to accept it. The fact that I can't even find the strength to crack a smile this very moment while you can is proof of that."

There was silence then. The two girls had spoken their truths and now there was nothing else to be said. They stood stationary together, with only the hissing of the truck engine interfering with their farewell, and suddenly they both felt as if they were standing on the edge of different cliffs. That is, they could either turn back, walk away from the edge, or they could jump and from there travel in one direction and one direction only. Claes had to choose between staying with her friend and taking care of her, or acting on what she believed in, whereas Angelica had to choose between pleading her friend to stay, or to let her go and accept the responsibility of taking her place. Both girls chose to jump.

Claes knew that Angelica didn't need her anymore. She knew that her friend was afraid of being independent, only because she wasn't used to it. Claes jumped to free Angelica from these fears, and to set in motion the rest of her life.

Angelica knew that Claes would never be swayed, and that to continue her begging would be to continue the selfishness which she had just apologized for. Angelica jumped because she wanted Claes to be free from the past, and to show herself that she can, in fact, becoming just as strong as any of the other cyborgs.

But still, Angelica had one more wish to make. "Make me a promise," she told Claes.

Claes replied, "What kind?"

Angelica shrugged. "Any kind. I just need one. Please."

It only took Claes a second to respond. She removed her glasses, polished them a little with her T-shirt, folded the hinges and looked at them lovingly for one last time before she offered them to Angelica, who took them looking somewhat confused. "I promise," Claes said looking somber, "That one way or another, you _will_ get the opportunity to return these to me."

"One way?" Angelica questioned hopefully.

"Meaning when I get back from this op."

"And what about another?"

Claes found the strength to smile for her friend. It was small, weak, and forced, but it was a smile nonetheless for the girl who was given the name "Basma." She turned toward the truck with its engine running, and opened the passenger door. All she said before she left, all that she needed to say, was, "Goodbye, Angie."

* * *

Claes sat in the truck and watched the dawn grip its claws onto the horizon and pull itself up and over. This morning, instead of the sun being a bright and beautiful symbol of life, Claes found that it had transformed overnight into a grotesque representation of her running out of time. She had none left now. To the east was the dawn, too late to see her off, and to the north the city of Algiers pulled itself up from the horizon, another despicable visage, this time of beliefs and the sacrifices one sometimes has to make in order to stick to them.

_Consequences_, Claes thought bitterly and defiantly to herself as her painful farewell to Angelica played again and again in her head, _Mean nothing to me now_.


	22. The Soloist

**Chapter 19: The Soloist**

"Claes," Hadi al-Haidar said to the young cyborg as she stepped out of the truck parked several blocks away from the hotel in which Claes' operation was to occur, "I must attend the conference, and I cannot leave, so I will send one of my men to wait for you in the truck. I have given him instructions to remain in the alley that the hotel's southern fire exit leads to. When you eliminate Khalid, evacuate the building through there."

Claes nodded as she stood on the sidewalk looking at Hadi sitting in the driver's seat of the truck in question. "Thank you Hadi," she said curtly, looking left and right, anxious to get moving. She felt as if she were standing out far too much to be comfortable.

Hadi smiled, as he seemed to do all the time no matter what situation he was in, and said affectionately, "Be careful, Claes."

"I will," Claes said, nodding again. She watched the Algiers Police Captain drive off down the street toward the courtroom and disappear around the corner. With a single deep breath, Claes braced herself for what was to come, and headed in the same direction and disappeared around the same corner. She did not have to round it, however, to see where her objective was. The hotel that she was heading for was a clean, towering, five-star beachside resort. If Claes was on vacation, this would be the place she would choose to stay.

As she looked up at the great building, Claes noticed a military helicopter pass by it, as well as a number of snipers posted in and on top of the buildings surrounding the hotel, and even inside of the hotel itself. She made a quick mental note of these and decided to be cautious once she reached the top.

She made her way to the entrance where the spotless automatic doors slid open soundlessly, leading her into a shiny sky-blue lobby, where shiny receptionists, obviously preoccupied with personal phone calls, cosmetic management and other such trifles, sat behind shiny baby-blue desks, waiting for check-ins or checkouts. To the right of this desk, the immaculate silver doors of three elevators seemed to have been pasted onto the wall. On both sides of the line of elevators, two soldiers of The People's National Army were posted and kept bored, bleary lookouts for suspicious behavior. Besides several white leather chairs lined up against the walls and white leather couches arranged in the open spaces, the lobby was devoid of furnishings.

As Claes approached the front desk, one of the women was forced to hastily hang up her cell phone call and force a smile onto her face. "Hello," she said in accented English, using a falsely hospitable tone.

"_Comment allez-vous_?" Claes asked pleasantly in French, trying to put the receptionist at ease, "How are you?"

"I am fine, thank you," the woman lied. "Checking in?"

"Yes," Claes responded, "The name is Giselle Lisette."

The woman turned her attention to the computer camped in front of her. The monitor had been displaying a slideshow screensaver for several hours now. "Here we are mademoiselle, you have the Royal Suite on the top floor." She gave Claes a blue keycard. As the girl turned toward the elevators and prepared to defend herself, though, the woman called out, "Wait!"

Claes stopped in her tracks, her body rigid and tense, preparing to create a little mess in the currently spotless lobby. She forced herself to pivot until she was facing the woman. "Yes?" she said.

"Where is your luggage? Did you forget to bring it inside?" the woman did not seem overly suspicious, but at this question, the two soldiers next to the elevators exchanged a glance and became suddenly alert.

Claes paused, staring blankly at the receptionist, not knowing what to say. Then she decided to take a risk by telling the receptionist, "Oh, I only brought one bag with my clothes and other essentials in it. I sent it to the room ahead of time. It may have arrived yesterday, or the day before." Claes tensed up further hoping they would swallow the lie.

"Ah," said one of the receptionists, "You remember that guy who came in yesterday? The tall, ugly one?" Her fellow receptionists nodded their heads and she continued, "Yeah, I remember now, he brought a case with him and sent it to the Royal Suite." This memory was acknowledged by a series of oh-that's-rights and yes-I-remember-nows. This gave the Claes the go-ahead.

She turned back to the elevators and before she could press the "Call" button, the soldier closest to her held up a hand, his palm toward her. Claes stopped, her heart racing, and prepared herself for a fight.

Both of the soldiers were wearing heavy gear and carrying Chinese Type 81 assault rifles. She could likely outmaneuver them, but then again, there were two of them and with ten feet of space between one soldier and the other, Claes would be hard pressed to incapacitate one and reach the other without being shot. Still, she would try if that's what she had to do.

As the soldier that had stopped her reached out to conduct his search, the other asked incredulously in Arabic, "What are you doing?"

The first soldier paused, his hand hovering near Claes, and replied, "I have to search her. What's wrong with that?"

"Look at her," the second soldier said, "She is obviously the daughter of a wealthy family. Do you want to get sued?"

"Why would they sue me? I am only doing my job!"

"Do you have any idea how many say that in their defense?"

The first nodded. "So?" he asked.

"Well," the other replied, "Do you have any idea how many of them fail?"

"Tss," the first soldier said, shaking his head, "This is a justified action. Plus, I have no intent other than performing a necessary security procedure."

"That's not what _she_ will say," the other soldier replied, cocking his head at Claes.

_They think I can't understand them_, Claes thought in disbelief, _Still, this is probably the greatest stroke of luck I've gotten in my life_.

The two soldiers argued back and forth while Claes waited inconspicuously in the background for a good three minutes. Finally, as the volume of the argument escalated to near shouting, Claes interjected in the most quiet, shyest tone of voice she could muster. "Umm…" she said just loudly enough to be heard. The two soldiers stopped and looked at her as if she had just materialized out of thin air. Claes continued, "Excuse me, but I would _really_ like to get to my room now." She added slyly, "Unless, of course, you need me for something?"

The soldier that had wanted to search her opened his mouth to object when the other cut him off by telling Claes in a warm tone, "Of course you can Mademoiselle Lisette, we apologize for keeping you waiting."

Claes smiled and nodded as she pressed the "Call" button. Immediately, one of the elevator doors slid open for her and she tried not to look as if she were in a hurry as she entered and punched in the button for the highest floor. Once the doors closed again, though, she sighed shakily and muttered to herself, "In many ways, it really was best for the Agency to choose young female candidates for our Branch."

* * *

When the elevator reached its floor, the doors opened with the chime of a bell and two more ANP soldiers poked their heads from around the elevator doors to stare at Claes warily. Several feet away she saw a third soldier patrolling the halls, walking toward her. This third person wore a different uniform than the other four she had seen, however, and was carrying an AK-74 instead of a Type 81. Claes saw a badge on the shoulder of his uniform. On it was a brown-bellied, black-backed jackal wearing a fierce predatory expression.

Claes walked slowly and carefully past the first two Algerian soldiers neither seemed at all bothered by her presence, but as she passed the Jackal, he slowed, stopped, and looked back at her suspiciously. Claes felt his eyes on the back of her head, scanning her. She felt his footfalls behind him as he followed her, keeping his distance.

Claes' mind raced, looking for a solution to this problem. She would have to get rid of her shadow, but the important question was not how, but where. The hallways of the hotel were perfectly straight, broken up here and there by intersections, and security forces were posted at regular intervals, some of them also bearing the same Jackal badge and catching the eyes of the soldier following Claes, instantly becoming aware of his suspicions and becoming distrustful of the girl.

As Claes took in these details and identified these threats, she looked for her suite, and when she found it, she passed it as if it wasn't hers. She wanted to buy time to think and not give the soldiers any opportunity to identify which room was hers. Once more, she became tense and stiff as she stopped in the hallway, indecisive. The Jackal stopped behind her as well a safe distance away, preparing to raise his weapon.

Claes bit her lip and began taking in information. There were two soldiers on both walls five meters ahead of her and two more another five meters past that before the hallway hit a dead end and branched out left and right. Behind her, no doubt was the same situation, plus the extra Jackal that had been tailing her.

She ground her teeth roughly in frustration and finally made a decision. She was stuck, trapped with no other option. She turned slowly to face the Jackal that had been following her and moved her hand to her back as slowly and stealthily as she could. Every inch it moved felt like a death sentence. Inch by inch it moved, until finally she felt her T-shirt and prepared to push it up and draw her pistol in one swift motion.

And then, very abruptly and loudly, a radio clipped to one of the nearby Algerian soldiers crackled to life, startling Claes nearly to death and making her hand freeze in midair. "All units," the voice cried out, "There are reports of a group of children in a tan truck firing shots at military personnel. Please respond!" Suddenly, Claes' mind focused itself on a certain young mercenary acquaintance of hers. She went pale, but only for an instant. She had an operation to undertake, after all.

The Jackal took his eyes off of her and looked around for the commanding officer of his sector. He appeared around a corner, an ANP officer, shouting the fastest series of orders that the cyborg had ever heard, and in response more than half of the men in the hallways cleared out to address the situation. Claes couldn't help but notice and lament the fact that every soldier that entered the elevator and left the building was a member of The People's National Army.

The Jackal that had been following Claes had been distracted by the commotion, looking over his shoulder and away from the girl. On the bright side, Claes noticed that none of the Jackals had radios. Not only that, but the halls were now relatively empty. _Sorry, Marco_, Claes thought to herself, remembering his advice, _But_ now_ is the time to act_.

She swung a left hook, simultaneously drawing her Beretta, catching the Jackal in his exposed jaw, causing him to whirl around. Claes kicked in the back of her opponent's knee, causing him to fall backwards. She caught him by wrapping her arm around his throat and using him as a human shield.

The Jackal tried to call out, but succeeded only in making a weak, comical, choking noise. Nonetheless, the swift movements of the opening to Claes' solo caught the attention of the trio of Jackals down the hall. Before they could aim their rifles, however, Claes squeezed off four shots, killing all three. The sound suppressor on her weapon didn't completely eliminate its sound, but because the hallways were small and confined, the Jackals in the area knew she was there. The problem was, though, that they didn't know _where_ she was.

Claes pushed her captive down the hall toward her room which she had passed. She reached an intersection and scanned left and right, finding two soldiers to the left and three to the right. Claes tossed the soldier in her grip at the group of three, blocking their line of fire for an instant. In that instant, however, she turned left, fired two shots into the duet of soldiers waiting there for her, and in the next moment, as she pivoted around to face the tangled Jackals, she switched her fire selector to three-round-burst mode, aimed at the group, and squeezed her trigger three times, spraying the whole quartet.

Claes removed the almost empty magazine from her pistol, but before she could slam a fresh one home, another group of five Jackals rounded the corner down the hall behind her. They fired, but thankfully Claes was quick enough to duck back behind the path where the four dead Jackals lay and finish reloading her weapon.

Further down Claes' branch of intersection, though, another pair materialized and fired, hardly aiming. Claes decided to take a page from Henrietta's book by crouching quickly, completely dodging the rain of rounds due to the excessively high aiming of her opponents, and let fly two more bursts, killing the pair.

Claes turned her attention back to the quintet. They had advanced toward her position, and despite sneaking but a quick glance, the corner around which she peeked was torn apart by a short burst of 7.62 rounds. Claes answered by using her left hand to peek the pistol around the corner and fire blindly with three bursts to suppress the advancing Jackals, and then running across the intersection to the passage on the side opposite hers, at the same time aiming hastily to pick off the last three soldiers that hadn't been hit.

Now leaning against the opposite corner, Claes waited for the pounding blood in her ears to perform its diminuendo. Afterwards, there was not a single footfall of the still living or scuffling of the dying hoping for escape. It was literally dead silent in the halls. Claes, without so much as a whisper of sound, holstered her pistol, stepped over dead bodies to find the Royal Suite, and swiped her keycard to open the door. She checked her watch. She was right on schedule.


	23. Hit and Run

**Chapter 20: Hit and Run**

According to Claes' watch, it was nearing 1000 hours, the time that the meeting would take place. She had only a little time, but it was enough. Besides, after the shootout in the hall, Claes needed to get out of the building as soon as possible. If she lingered, she would die.

Claes scrutinized the Royal Suite. It was a large, expensive room with two king-size beds, two bathrooms, a sparkling kitchen with the latest amenities on the market, and an adjacent mini-bar. Most importantly, however, there was a large balcony that presented a sniper's dream view of the courtroom. While she appreciated the view, Claes made sure to note as many military sniper locations as she could, counting eight in total. Some of them were watching her, but she pretended not to notice in an attempt to come off as nonchalant and harmless as possible.

After taking in the basic layout of the suite, Claes began searching for the Barrett that had been previously planted in the room. She was sure that it wouldn't be under the bed or in the closet, as those were obvious areas subject to the most thorough searches, but she checked these places anyway. After a minute of searching, though, Claes found the rifle case underneath one of the bathroom sinks, jammed amongst the pipes and cleaning solvents.

"How could anyone mistake this for a luggage bag?" Claes wondered aloud, inspecting the massive, black carbon fiber suitcase that housed the weapon. She laid the case on the bed, making sure not to bring it near the balcony or any of the windows, flipped up the clamps and lifted the lid. The rifle looked clean and primed for firing, and included with it was a small box of .50 caliber BMG rounds. She took the empty magazine, loaded it, and replaced it into the rifle, but didn't chamber the first round just yet. Instead, Claes removed the telescopic sight and carefully made a more elaborate survey of the balcony view, peeking just barely around the door to the balcony so that the snipers wouldn't be able to spot her.

She recounted and immediately felt sick. The original eight snipers she counted turned into nine, then ten, then twelve, and finally fifteen. Claes had gravely underestimated their numbers by almost one hundred percent, and these were only the ones that she could see from inside of the suite with the balcony railing obstructing her view. _Perfect_, Claes thought bitterly, _This is just perfect_.

She took another glance at her watch, feeling terribly anxious, and found that she had approximately three minutes until the conference started. She needed to calm her nerves, so she entered the kitchen. Claes looked down at the miniature bar, considering it for a moment, decided against the temptation, and then walked on to the refrigerator where she produced a cherry-flavor soda and began sipping, simultaneously mulling over her situation. The only thing that kept coming up in her head however, was, _This is bad. This is bad. This is bad_... Claes checked her watch. She had one minute, thirty seconds.

Claes took one last swig of cherry soda before she placed it on the counter and picked up the Barrett. She jerked the bolt and took a quick peek through the scope, checking to see if there was any dirt on it. _It's too late to plan now_, she thought grimly,_ I'm just going to have to wing it_.

Keeping the rifle low and concealed behind the balcony's railing, Claes looked out and below at the courtroom. Already there was a car there unloading passengers, however, each was well-dressed, stiff, and escorted (judging by their uniforms) by soldiers of the People's National Army. These were clearly Algerian politicians and none of them needed a .50 caliber round inside of them. At least not as far as Claes knew.

She waited for what seemed like an eternity, standing as still, rigid, and tense as a stone, or a tree. Overhead, the blue sky was crystal clear, save for the slow, steady traffic of the fat white clouds rolling by. All was still, save for these. There was no city bustle as usual; no mass movements on the earth or in the heavens, not even a breeze interrupted the calm. These were ideal sniping conditions, perhaps even better than ideal.

And then, very suddenly, a tan jeep appeared in front of the courthouse, simultaneously shocking Claes to full attention. Her heart raced, her pupils dilated, and the world, its colors, sounds, smells, and tastes, became many times sharper and clearer. Claes saw from the great distance, and in part thanks to the new clarity with which she perceived the world, that the soldiers that exited the jeep were wearing uniforms different than that of the ANP soldiers, Jackal uniforms no less, and that they were converging on and surrounding a single shaved-headed figure, dressed in a ragged, dusty sport coat and dress pants in similar condition.

Without hesitating, Claes lifted the Barrett, propping it on top of the railing, and took aim. Almost instantly, an enemy sniper round zoomed past her head, missing by inches, and separating a few strands of hair from her head. Claes didn't even flinch, but instead, swiftly and mechanically adjusted her aim to compensate for wind speed and the distance between herself and her target. In less than a second, she had Khalid dialed in. The flow of time, thickened, congealed as she pulled the trigger. The explosive flash of the rifle seemed to linger like a flower of flame. Claes' ears rang with the great roar of her weapon, and she felt its bull's kick in her shoulder as the .50 caliber BMG flew out of the prodigious barrel and whirled through the air in the arc that Claes had predicted until finally it struck the back of her chosen target's skull, piercing it, causing indescribable damage to the organ and tissues inside, and exited through a self-made hole in the other side.

* * *

The man surrounded and being protected by his Jackal bodyguards fell, dead before he even knew it, and hit the concrete hard, spilling his lifeblood in a small halo around his wounded head. Immediately, his bodyguards reacted, shouting orders, calling for help, trying to make sense of the chaos that had ensued. One of them, wearing sunglasses, looked at the entry and exit wounds in the back and front of his charge's head and traced the projectile's apparent trajectory until his eyes came to rest on the balcony of the top floor of a towering hotel. There he saw the fleeting image of a person turning and disappearing within the hotel room. The bodyguard wearing sunglasses smirked silently to himself…

* * *

After the shot, Claes hurried into her suite, narrowly avoiding several more rounds from ANP snipers. In her rush, she threw the Barrett messily into its case, leaving it there, picked up the unfinished cherry soda on the counter as she passed the kitchen, and began drinking heavily, almost choking herself. When she had finished and discarded the bottle, Claes dashed out the door and into the hallway with the dead Jackals from the previous shootout, hurried down the hall toward the elevators and pressed all three "Call" buttons hastily, hoping one was already on her floor so that she could get down as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, she had no such luck.

And then, to Claes' dismay, she saw that the elevator trackers above the doors indicated that all three were on their way down. Somebody, somebody of course meaning a large group of people, had called them planning to go up. If Claes waited for the elevators to arrive, she would be welcomed by three squads of soldiers pouring into her floor and overwhelming her. She had no choice but to take the stairs.

When Claes found the fire exit, a column of stairs that spiraled down the height of the hotel and with two out of four walls made solely of windows overlooking Algiers, she was disappointed when she realized that it did not lead directly to the fire exit where the truck would be waiting to take her away and back to the Desert Children's headquarters. Claes would still have to go through the lobby and possibly dispatch whatever hostile forces awaited her there. Nonetheless, this was the only way for her to escape with a chance of survival, so she began leaping roughly down as many steps as she could skip.

"If I get out of here alive," Claes panted, "I promise not to snap at Etta for asking about loneliness." She jumped down several more steps. "I promise not to give Triela a hard time about her relationship with Hilshire." Claes continued to leap, hitting walls or landing incorrectly. "I promise not to-"

She stopped suddenly at a low, muffled whirring that seemed to be coming from outside. Claes looked through one of the windows and her eyes widened in distress at the appearance of the military helicopter that she had seen before entering the hotel. The pilot had spotted her and turned the chopper parallel to the building to reveal a group of soldiers being transported within. They opened fire, demolishing the window, but Claes hopped sideways, out of harm's way.

Audaciously, one of the soldiers bounded out of the helicopter and burst through the perforated glass. He swung his weapon to level it at Claes, but she quickly ducked under the barrel, simultaneously pushing it upwards and slamming her fist into the soldier's midsection. Not only did this take his breath away, but it also forced to double over reflexively, allowing Claes to wrap her arm over and around his neck and twist her body, tossing the soldier down where a swift punch to the throat dispatched him for the time being.

It was at this moment that Claes heard the door that she had come through earlier burst open, and when she looked up she saw, through the grill flooring, the soldiers that had taken the elevator to the top floor in search of her. She would have to double-time it now.

With renewed and greater vigor, Claes flew down the steps of the stairwell, faster than the chopper could descend and faster than the heavily armed and equipped soldiers could keep up with. This didn't prevent them from shooting at her, though. They literally rained ammunition down on her, shooting through the slots and holes in the floor, or down at her from outside in the helicopter. Thankfully, there was no way for them to be even decently accurate.

Claes had stopped counting down the floors that she descended as soon as the helicopter arrived, so she had no idea how close she was to the lobby. That coupled with the constant shower of enemy fire created a situation that caused her heart rate to soar past levels that Claes could have done without. Nevertheless, she didn't stop for anything, even after she reached the bottom floor and burst through the doors into the surprisingly empty lobby. Apparently, they had evacuated the receptionists and neglected to leave anyone to guard the area.

Claes was so close now. The shooting had stopped because her pursuers had lost sight of her, which cleared her head and allowed her to think. Her escape was in sight and so within her grasp that she unconsciously counted each step she took. Twelve got her across the lobby and to the southern fire exit. Five allowed her to cross the short hallway between the exit and the alley, where the truck was waiting with its engine running. Three was all it took to reach the truck, and two carried her to the passenger side door…

Claes called out in French, "I'm here, hurry and get us away!" to the driver before she reached the door, but as soon as her hand touched the handle she stopped at what she saw within the truck. The driver had been killed, bullet holes dotting his chest and arms like the constellations of the night sky, his blood stained the windshield (cracked and covered in bullet holes), dashboard, and seat.

Claes' eyes, already wide with panic, widened further in horror. She had been so close; so close to returning to Angelica and keeping her promise of "one way," rather than "another." Finishing off the Jackal army seemed to be only a matter of time and careful planning now that their leader had been killed, but for Claes it was a matter that she would never participate in, a matter that she would never be able to see the end of. She felt the need to cry, to sink to her knees in helplessness and desperation, but she didn't. She couldn't. It was too late now. She had had her chance to mourn, but she stubbornly refused, choosing instead to hide behind her apathy and stoicism.

Claes was fully aware of the figure that stole almost silently behind her. She heard all too clearly the brutal clicking that resulted from pumping their shotgun. She felt perfectly well the cold barrel pressed to the back of her head. If it hadn't been for the sound of the fire exit bursting open once more followed by the large multitude of footsteps of her pursuers, Claes would have done something, anything to preserve herself. However, she knew now that it was all hopeless, no matter what she did.

The figure behind her pulled the trigger, there was the momentary feeling of the muzzle flash as it burned the back of her head and neck, but even that, along with the feelings of helplessness and desperation, was interrupted by the following, all-encompassing, poison darkness.


	24. The Window

**Chapter 21: The Window**

Marco checked his watch, an action that he had been repeating on a regular basis throughout the day, as if expecting the flow of time to change or vary, and found that it was now 1200 hours. The conference wasn't to end until 1400 hours but Claes should have returned long before now, if at all. Still, Marco's constant watch checks were really only meaningless indications of his ill-hidden anxiety.

Sitting across from him on the same dining bench, Angelica poked at her rations, looking afraid and worried. She didn't have much of an appetite, and most of her day had been spent praying, pleading, and bargaining with the Heavens for Claes' safe return. Although it was only noon, Angelica felt the urge to go to her tent, fall asleep, wake up and find Claes practicing her sharpshooting outside. She knew, though, that this hope was unlikely to be fulfilled.

All of a sudden, both handler and cyborg were stirred into action by an outburst of activity in the Desert Children encampment. Everywhere, mercenaries were shouting, picking up weapons, taking cover, or finding a vantage point that concealed them as much as possible. Because of their malaise, Marco and Angelica were sluggish to comprehend the situation and react accordingly, but they reacted nonetheless.

Drawing their sidearms, the Fratello advanced, staying low, from cover to cover in order to investigate the cause of the commotion. The pair passed many hidden Desert Children, no longer toting the ancient, rusty weapons that they once had. Now, thanks to the long campaign against the Jackals, they were each supplied with shining, perfectly maintained firearms. The SWA agents had found them, desert rats, insignificant, weak, yet proud and fierce, and turned them into something much more. Something deadly. Something to fear.

As Marco and Angelica approached the front gates of the encampment, they encountered Faiz Junayd crouched behind a slab of concrete, holding an impressive H&K MG36 at the ready. When he saw the Fratello, he impatiently motioned with quick, swiping hands for them to come closer.

"Faiz," Marco asked, his voice a low, cautious growl, "What's going on? Are we being attacked?"

The leader of the Desert Children replied in an equally low and gravelly tone, "My men standing watch on the dunes spotted an approaching vehicle from the north. We have thus far been unable to determine whether or not this vehicle is a threat, however, we believe it is best to prepare for an attack."

"Just one vehicle," Angelica questioned doubtfully, "And it's approaching from the north, you say?" At Junayd's nod, Angelica turned to Marco and said with a hint of hope, "Sir, the vehicle might be coming from Algiers. Maybe it's Claes!"

"Maybe," Marco decided to leave the possibility open, for the sake of his young partner, however, for his own benefit he added, "Or it could just as easily be some kind of play by the Jackals. If we had been updated on the outcome of Claes' assignment, I'm sure we would have a definite answer."

Angelica nodded grimly. After all, even she needed to leave room for doubt.

"There! I see it!" one of the Desert Children, hiding underneath a fruit stall, cried. He was pointing out toward the dunes on the horizon where a brown-yellow cloud of dust was being kicked up by an approaching, unfamiliar olive-colored truck.

Faiz hissed at the soldier to keep him from raising his voice again. Then, he turned to Marco and made a request. "My friend," he said kindly, "Would it be too much to ask for you to greet the vehicle?"

"Of course not, Faiz," Marco replied, holstering his weapon and motioning for Angelica to follow him. "Stay close," he told her as he stepped up to the front gate, "And keep me covered. I'll be completely vulnerable in this position, so I'm counting on you. Is that clear?"

Angie nodded. "Yes, sir," she answered. She stayed crouched behind the cross-section of a skinned cow's carcass hanging from a hook in the shade, her sidearm kept aimed and ready at all times and her crosshairs never straying more than several feet from her handler.

The truck was close now. At this distance if Angelica had her AUG she could eliminate the driver with a single shot without any problems, however, she knew that now wasn't the time for hasty killing. _Especially_, she thought to herself, _Because of who might be in that truck_.

When Marco felt the time was right, he held up his hand, palm toward the vehicle, in an immovable, statuesque stance. The truck slowed, and finally stopped, the sun reflecting off of the windshield and obscuring the driver. Everyone within the encampment grew tense. When the driver's door opened, the tension increased. One of the Desert Children felt a painful cramp shoot up his leg because he couldn't relax his muscles. Finally a boot appeared under the door as the driver stepped out… and Hadi al-Haidar emerged from behind it.

Faiz Junayd jumped out from behind his concrete slab, shaking his fist. "Damn you Haidar," he yelled in a friend's anger, "For scaring my men like that!" All around the Desert Children began emerging from their hiding spots, some looking relieved, some dejected, and only a small few laughing at the situation.

Marco approached Hadi, preparing himself for his signature embrace, however it never came. He noticed that the Algiers police captain looked uncharacteristically sorrowful. When he realized that Claes wasn't with him, Marco suddenly understood why.

"Is she…?" Marco asked, trailing off because he found he couldn't finish the question.

Hadi shook his head. "I am sorry, old friend. The mission was a failure."

By now Angelica had arrived from behind the carcass and joined Marco by his side. "Claes failed?" she asked incredulously. In Angelica's mind there was no way her friend couldn't have succeeded. And besides that she had made a promise…

Hadi nodded and said, "Unfortunately, Khalid made it to the convention unscathed. Claes had managed to reach her suite on time and take her shot, however she missed, killing one of his bodyguards instead."

"What happened after that?" Marco asked.

"The meeting went as planned after the politicians and military officers had calmed down after the shooting. I did not hear any reports of Claes being found, but after the convention had been dismissed early, deeming that it was impossible to reach a decision so quickly, I did not hear from her or the driver that I had sent to take her here. I was hoping to find her here afterwards and in my rush I had forgotten call you. I am sorry."

Marco placed a reassuring hand on Hadi's shoulder. "It's alright, you've got nothing to apologize for. What matters now is that the Jackals still haven't been absorbed into the military. Until that happens, we still have a chance of destroying them."

"But Marco," Hadi said, sounding even more apologetic for having to say what he was about to say, "My informants still have not been able to locate the Jackal's base of operations, and I could not dispatch somebody to follow Khalid without looking suspicious. We are still at a dead end."

Marco sighed, trying to clear his head so that he could think. However, instead of devising a plan, his mind simply came up with a lie. "We'll find a way," he replied. It was a lie that was nice to hear, and of course it gave the company false hope, but nonetheless it was a lie. Nonetheless, the hope was false.

* * *

The sun was setting on that day that everyone had hoped would start the countdown to the end, but in reality was just a precursor to shattered optimism and a lost friend. Angelica could see the blood-colored tinges of the sky permeating through the walls of the tent's cloth, and as she saw this, it dawned on her that she would probably never see her friend again. Holding the glasses that Claes had given to her earlier that morning, Angelica tried to rationalize the chaos in her mind. "But… but…" she kept saying to herself as if it was the final solution to the equation, "She promised. Claes promised me that she would…" Angelica could feel the tears coming, and her attempts to stifle them proved futile. They ran freely down her cheeks.

Suddenly, a curious, high-pitch ringing was heard within the tent, and looking around Angelica found that the noise was coming from Marco's rucksack, left carelessly on the floor for Angelica to watch over while he conferred with Faiz and Hadi about what to do next for the campaign.

Reaching into the bag, she pulled from it a vibrating sleek, silver cellular phone with the letters "SWA" stamped onto the back. Angelica flipped the phone open, sniffed once, cleared her throat and spoke into the receiver. "Hello?" she said.

"Hmm?" a familiar female voice answered, "Angie, is that you?"

"Y-yes," Angelica replied, taken slightly aback.

"Angie, this is Priscilla. How have you been? I hope everything in Algeria's been going alri-" in the background, Angelica heard a muffled voice, gruff and impatient, saying something that was impossible to understand from her end, followed by Priscilla again, sounding suddenly nervous. "Y-yes sir, I apologize. I'll get to the point straightaway." And then, to Angelica, Priscilla said, "Angie, I need to speak with Marco if that's alright."

Angelica hesitated for a moment before answering. "He might be a little busy. Would it be alright if I answered your questions for him?"

"Oh, well I… suppose so. Chief Lorenzo is here with me and when I made my usual personnel locations check today, I noticed Claes' signal was heading toward Algiers early this morning, but Marco's stayed on the outer edge of the Grand Erg Occidental."

Angelica didn't say anything. She was busy trying to make sense of what Priscilla was telling her, so in response to the silence, Priscilla continued.

"And then, at about 1034 hours, I saw that Claes started moving south-southeast from Algeria and the whole time Marco's signal stayed in its place, until finally Claes' signal stopped moving in the middle of the Tassili N'Ajjer region. Our GPS indicates that she's still there."

Again there was silence from Angelica, who was extremely confused and couldn't quite comprehend the importance of the information being given to her.

Then, another voice came through the phone, deep and gruff. It was Chief Lorenzo. "Angelica," he said with an underlying tone of anger coursing through his voice, "I need to speak with Marco. Now."

Angelica found herself making her way to the center of the DC encampment where the three commanders were having their meeting. Her head was still foggy and perplexed by her conversation with Priscilla, so basically she was running on autopilot.

When she entered the central shack, the three commanders turned toward the door to stare at her, holding the cell phone dumbly suspended beside her head. Without any sort of tone, for her attention was still on Priscilla's words, Angie said, "Marco, the Chief wants to speak with you."

Marco hurriedly took the phone from his cyborg and spoke into it. "Sir?" he said.

"Agent Togni," Lorenzo replied immediately, "I need to know why Claes is almost a thousand kilometers away from you right now. Didn't I tell you to keep her under close watch at all times?"

"Excuse me, sir," Marco answered slowly, suddenly just as confused as his cyborg, "But I don't understand what you mean."

Through the phone, Marco heard the sound of a fist slamming on a desk and a high-pitch squeak from a certain female data analyst. "How could you not understand me, Marco," Chief Lorenzo growled through the phone, "All I am saying is that the signal from the cell phone that you're using right now is in the Grand Erg Occidental, and that Claes' signal, the signal from her shock collar, indicates that she is over eight hundred kilometers southeast of your position. What I need to know is _why_?!"

At this point, the information presented to Marco hit him, like a harsh desert wind carrying with it cruel grains of sand that could tear flesh from bone. He had been a fool, for he had forgotten all about the metal collar around Claes' neck that had been designed not only to allow her to be disciplined when necessary, but also to be monitored by the Agency. Marco understood now that Claes had inadvertently opened a window of opportunity for him, but it was a small one, and if he was going to reach it, he needed to act quickly.

"Sir," he said into the phone, suddenly alert and energized, "Please forgive me, but I'll explain everything to you when I can. For now, I have to go." He heard the beginnings of an angry protest during the instant before he hung up, causing him to cringe inwardly. However, he recovered quickly.

"Angelica," he ordered, "I want you in full assault gear in ten minutes. Bring your AUG and the spare Barrett and wait for me by the trucks."

"Yes, sir," Angelica replied dutifully, for at the same moment when Marco reached his realization of what was going on, she had as well. She left the shack and headed back to her tent.

Marco then turned to Faiz and Hadi. To the former he said, "Faiz, I need you to rally your men, get them armed, and get them all in the trucks. Make sure they load all of the heaviest equipment we've got, especially the mortars and bombs."

"Understood," Faiz nodded. He didn't quite understand what was happening, but he knew that it was important. He departed immediately, and seconds later his voice boomed across the desert, calling for his Children to take up arms and prepare themselves for their finest hour.

Hadi was the only one left without anything to do, for he had no influence in the encampment. He knew, however, that he had done his part already, and that from here on he would only get in the way if he tried to interfere further. Instead, he asked Marco quietly, "Is she…?"

Marco shrugged in reply and said, "I don't know her condition, but I know her location, and I know that only Qadir Khalid himself could have brought her there. Now is the time to end this, old friend."

Hadi smiled warmly, nodding. "That Claes," he said happily, "Is full of surprises, is she not?"

Angelica removed her Steyr AUG A2 from its case, taking one of the already-loaded magazines, slamming it home, and pulling the bolt in an almost grim, mechanical fashion. She took twelve more magazines and placed them in the pockets of her flak jacket, along with a mix of grenades and extra ammunition for her sidearm.

Slinging her rifle over her shoulder, she picked up the Barrett's case which she had taken on her way to the tent and made her way to the large, chaotic mass of parked trucks where the entire force of the Desert Children were loading mortars, bombs, rocket-propelled grenades, and every other kind of explosive that they had at their disposal. As they worked, Angelica saw the hunger in their eyes, shining in the darkness. They were thirsty for blood; for revenge.

One of the Desert Children approached her. "Basma," he said, "Have you seen Sabri? I cannot find him or his friends anywhere."

Angelica shook her head. "My apologies," she said, "I haven't seen him at all today." At this the mercenary departed, looking slightly worried, but with the task at hand, the anxiety was quickly dispelled.

Angie looked around until she saw Faiz and Hadi, pointing and yelling orders at everyone within sight. She came near them and asked if they knew where Marco was, and they pointed her to his location.

"Angelica," Hadi said, still smiling, "You have nothing to worry about. I am sure of it."

Faiz, who usually didn't care at all about the worries of others added, "Your friend is strong. There is no way a coward such as Khalid could dispose of her so easily."

Angelica nodded in thanks, but didn't say anything because she felt tears of joy coming to her eyes. These tears she was able to stifle, however.

Eventually, she found Marco loading a box of plastic explosives into the back of a truck. When he finished, he came up to her, placed a hand affectionately on her head, and asked, "Are you ready?"

"Yes, Marco," Angelica replied. They got into a truck, Angelica seated rigidly beside her handler. Then, Faiz yelled an order, and all of the vehicles in the area were started simultaneously. It sounded like the roar of a great and terrible beast. They were about to find out, however, exactly how great this beast was, for it still had to enter the mouth of the wolf and come back out.

* * *

It was in this same mouth that was about to be filled with fire and death where Claes stirred and awoke…


	25. The Mouth of the Wolf

**Chapter 22: The Mouth of the Wolf**

Claes stirred as her mind pulled itself out of the murky depths of unconsciousness and into the turbid light of reality. As it did so, it confused itself by mixing past with the present and vice versa. She thought she could hear birds chirping and the warmth of the Italian sun on her face. The dank smell of stale sweat, blood, and urine belied this illusion, however.

Claes opened her eyes. It took but a second to adjust to the shadows and once the blur faded and the scene before her became clear, she was able to make an appropriate evaluation of her situation. However, the situation at hand was bleak, to say the very least.

She was strapped to a wooden chair, most likely an old electric chair, with heavy, rusted metal restraints that rubbed her wrists and ankles raw. Even with her augmented strength, Claes had no hope of breaking free. From what she could see, Claes made the obvious observations of the room that she was being imprisoned in. Everything from the walls, the floor, and even the flat slabs jutting from the walls which were the only forms of furnishings in the room, were made of cold, lifeless concrete.

There was no light in the room despite the bare bulb hanging dead from the ceiling, but Claes' enhanced eyesight allowed her to see past the black veil of darkness, and this in turn allowed her to see a number of small, gaunt figures wearing little else but soiled tank-tops and shorts. These ghost-like forms had been lined up against one of the walls, on their knees with their hands behind their backs. Over each of their heads was a burlap sack which pulsed inwards and outwards in fluctuation with their breathing. Other than their respirations, the only other sounds that they made were low, desperate whispers.

Claes listened to them carefully but could not make out what they were saying. It seemed that they were ignorant of her awakening for the time being. And then, when she caught a particularly familiar voice, she gasped sharply and said incredulously, "Sabri?!"

There was the slightest of pauses from the group of masked boys, which was quickly broken by a surprisingly nonchalant, "Oh? Chirpy, you're still alive?" from one of the faceless figures.

Claes shot back, without the least bit of humor, "That depends. Are you?"

The boy laughed good-humoredly and replied, "Yes, Chirpy, we're very much alive. It's a little unfortunate, though, because we're in the headquarters of the Jackals right now."

"Wh-what?!" Claes exclaimed in outrage, "What happened?"

Sabri answered, "We originally planned to aid your escape and then make our own in the ensuing chaos, but… well, obviously it did not work out as cleanly as that."

Claes paused in confusion with her mouth hanging slightly open. "What… what do you mean?" she questioned him nervously.

"You mean you don't remember?" When this question was met with silence, Sabri explained patiently, and with mounting excitement. "Surely you saw our truck, barreling down the street with our guns blazing in the air? Surely you recognized the diversion when you saw it?"

Claes thought back and quickly remembered the call that the ANP soldiers had gotten while she was trapped in the hotel. A report stating that a group of children were riding around in a tan truck, firing at the military… "That was _you_?" Claes groaned, hanging her head.

"That's right," Sabri said, sounding almost proud.

Claes hissed, "I should kill you. Even after that talk we had, you still decided to go behind my back and ignore my advice. What were you thinking?"

Sabri shot back, equally angry, "Did you really expect me to listen? How could you think I would stand by and let a friend die, knowing I could do something to help them?"

Before Claes could give her retort, though, a slanted beam of light appeared on the floor, expanding in a great sweep as the door in front of Claes was opened, creaking like the dry scraping of decrepit bones. When the light hit her eyes, she flinched slightly at its intensity.

While the door opened, Sabri said quietly, grimly, and soberly "Well… I suppose it doesn't matter now anyway."

A tall, dark man, built to intimidate with broad shoulders and thick arms and wearing a ragged, dusty sport coat with matching dress pants, walked into the room. He was followed by four men in combat gear, two armed with AK-74 assault rifles, one with a Mac-10 machine pistol, and the fourth with a NeoStead 2000 shotgun. A typical Jackal squad.

The apparent leader wearing the sport coat swept his eyes once across the room, then smirked and said to Claes in fluent Italian, "I did not expect you to awaken so soon. I find it very impressive that you were able to recover so quickly from the beanbag round at point-blank range. Several times on our trip from Algiers, I thought you would get up and pose some problems for us. Eventually, though, when we injected you with a cocktail of sedatives and muscle relaxants, you became much more… cooperative."

Claes scowled and inquired with an audible tone of annoyance, "And just who are you?"

"How arrogant," the man said in mock pain, "You know who I am. After all, you tried to kill me."

Claes paused for a moment in hesitation. "I watched Qadir Khalid die," she stated flatly, "I watched a .50 caliber round pass through the back of his skull."

"Ah, that is where you are mistaken, _signorina_, the shot you fired was a miss. You ended up killing one of my bodyguards instead."

"That can't be true," Claes protested with increasing fervor, "I shot the man being guarded by the Jackal guards, the man in the sport coat… unless…" She trailed off in sudden realization.

Qadir Khalid smiled, recognizing that Claes was having an epiphany, and said, "So, now you understand."

"You…" Claes sputtered in disbelief, "…You dressed up as one of your own bodyguards, and had him pose as you!"

"What an intelligent young lady," Khalid said scornfully, "But you were still foolish enough to believe that you could kill me alone."

Claes scoffed once, shook her head, scowled at Khalid, and whispered menacingly, "You haven't escaped from me yet." However, this display of defiance simply prompted laughter from her sworn adversary.

"Such bravery! I am afraid, however, that it will do you no good. There is no one capable of saving you now. I have been able to withhold information concerning this location for years and I don't expect things to change so-"

"It's amazing," Sabri called out suddenly with a conscious attempt at being offensive, "That I don't even have to understand someone to know that he's an ass! How can anyone bear to listen to this pompous fool?"

"Sabri," Claes groaned, "You're going to get us killed!"

As Sabri spoke, he got louder, more irritating. "I don't care," he was practically shouting, "As long as I don't have to listen to this psychopath ramble on anymore, I'm fine with getting killed!"

Suddenly, it hit Claes. This was what Sabri was hoping for. He wanted Khalid to execute him, to distract him from her. Sabri was trying to protect Claes by sacrificing himself. She couldn't let that happen, so she shouted in disbelief, "I'm not joking, Sabri, they're going to kill us! This isn't a game, just stop now so that you might have a chance later!"

"I've had my chance, Chirpy," Sabri replied, "And I took it."

No matter how firmly she insisted, the boys ignored Claes' earnest pleas and the situation deteriorated rapidly. Soon the others boys in Sabri's gang were chattering, laughing, and mocking Qadir Khalid, much to the confusion and annoyance of the Jackals in the room. At a silent, tight-lipped nod from their leader, the Jackals raised their weapons at the oblivious group of young prisoners.

"Wait," Claes said pleadingly, "Please, don't kill them. They may be fools, but…"

"Hey, Chirpy," she heard Sabri calling out to her amidst the chaos, "It's alright now. You don't have to worry about us. We chose this…"

Khalid made an ominous slicing motion by sliding his finger across his throat.

"Stop!" Claes yelled in desperation, "Stop, I said! We can negotiate some-!"

There was a series of gunshots that drowned out the boys' conversations, and in the wake of these explosions was a sickening, stagnant silence. At the last minute, Claes had turned away, screwing her eyes tight to keep from looking at Sabri and his gang, and when it was over, she found that her body wouldn't let her head swivel in their direction.

Qadir looked at his four bodyguards and jerked his head toward the door. They left immediately, making Claes and the Jackal leader the only two living beings in the room. "Now that it's a bit more peaceful in here," Khalid said, shattering the morbid, yet delicate silence with his lack of sympathy, "Maybe we could discuss your fate, child."

Claes gritted her teeth violently, feeling that she was about to vomit. When she found her composure, she asked angrily, "Why did you kill them? They were only children."

"So are you," Khalid replied without a hint of emotion in his voice. At the resulting silence from Claes, he continued, "Young lady, I doubt that anyone could live lives like ours and still be so naïve as to mourn for a ragged group of desert rats. You and I have seen much worse before."

"Do _not_," Claes replied slowly and furiously through gritted teeth, "Speak as if we're the same. You and I are completely different."

Khalid laughed and asked, "How so? We are both killers. There is no need to probe beyond that. One killer is just as ugly on the inside as another, and that's that."

Claes' mind mulled over this claim. She thought of herself and realized that beneath her intelligence and unwavering tranquility, on the inside she was trained for one thing and one thing only. She thought about her friend, Triela, whom she hadn't seen for almost a month. In the dormitories, Triela was a caring, maternal figure, but on the field she was as coldblooded and vicious as a wolf. Claes was beginning to think that Khalid's beliefs were true, but mostly because she had never thought about it until now. Are the good deeds and advice that she and Triela hand out to the younger girls just useless bits of information that help to keep them on track with their murderous duties?

Due to the lack of response, Qadir Khalid continued his speech, "You see? I am right. The illusion of individuality within us stems from our ability to lie and create any façade we wish when in truth all we do is kill and harm others."

Claes' mind wandered next to Rico. On the outside she was the happiest, bubbliest, and most energetic girl of all of the cyborgs, however, with a gun in her hand Rico would become nothing more than a machine, killing everyone and everything that Jean told her to. Was that happiness of hers an artificial lie created simply to keep control of the monster within?

"No matter whom you speak with," Khalid kept on, clearly relishing Claes' confusion, "A killer is a killer. There are no charitable murderers, kind executioners, or naïve assassins."

Finally, Claes thought of Henrietta and Angelica, and thus the spell that seemed to have been cast upon her by her enemy's words was broken. Both of these girls were without doubt assassins, and both would obey any order given to them by their handlers, no matter how horrible or monstrous. However, despite this, both were also unquestioningly innocent. Henrietta could shed a tear for a wilted flower, and Angelica could just as easily cry about a rainy day. There was no way that people like this, although they were killers, could be classified using Khalid's disturbed beliefs.

Not only this, but Claes recalled her old handler, Raballo, who was an old, tired, and experienced killer, and had been at his job for a good portion of his life. Yet not only was Raballo well-read and intelligent. He was kind, caring, and even gentle. Claes' glasses were proof of this. Come to think of it, the fact that Angelica had them now was proof that at least a little of Raballo had rubbed off on Claes.

She smiled, shaking her head and causing Qadir Khalid to stare curiously and somewhat irritably at her. "You've no idea," she said suddenly calm and, oddly enough, happy, "How completely wrong you are."

As if on cue the ground rumbled and shook with the force of an explosion nearby. Immediately after the door of the room opened and one of the four guards that had accompanied Khalid peeked in and reported, panicking, "We are under attack! They have the compound surrounded and have posted mortar teams and snipers on the rock ridge!"

Qadir swore in Kabyle and began shouting orders to his men, "Take Bakr with you and organize a small team to penetrate their lines and eliminate their forces on the ridge." At this the two guards with the assault rifles sprinted down the hall. As Khalid left the room, he turned to the remaining two Jackals in the doorway and said, nodding toward Claes, "I want the two of you to deal with her."

Before departing, he turned to Claes, the light from the hall creating a long thin shadow stretching from him to the bound girl, and said with a tone of finality, "_Arrivederci, signorina_," and disappeared out into the unseen battlefield where the sounds of even more explosions and gunfire could be heard all around.

As he left, the two guards that he had assigned to dispose of Claes entered the concrete room; however, they never even made it halfway. As they traversed the column of light on the floor that led to their intended victim, the building quaked, roared and was suddenly filled with fire and falling concrete from the collapsed ceiling which crushed the guards, killing them instantly. Claes, on the other hand, did not lose consciousness this time, but she felt the old wood of the chair that she was bound in give way, cracking and breaking. Slowly and calmly, she rose amidst concrete debris, dust, and wooden splinters, free, unrestricted, and very much full of the desire to kill.


	26. Claes' Ninth

**Chapter 23: Claes' Ninth**

Claes arose as the sole survivor in the concrete holding cell, despite the fact that its ceiling had caved in after being hit by a mortar shell. The two Jackals that had been ordered to kill her lay dead underneath a messy pile of concrete slabs with their bodies broken and, unfortunately, their weapons as well. Both the Mac-10 and NeoStead 2000 were bent and dented beyond recognition.

Despite still being unsteady from the anesthetic and muscle relaxants that had been injected into her several hours ago and being unarmed and unarmored, Claes stumbled around the mound of concrete in the center of the room, doing her best to keep her eyes from the bodies of Sabri's gang, and made her way to the door which was thankfully unblocked. She entered the brightly lit hallway, squinting slightly after emerging from the darkness.

Claes had one objective in her mind, which was to finally find and eliminate Qadir Khalid. Not only because she was the closest to his location and had the best chance of verifying his death, but also because she had long ago marked him as the reason for her being in Algeria as well as the subsequent instances of near death that followed.

And so, despite being unarmed and unarmored, Claes staggered down the hallway with the cold, mechanical intent on finishing her mission once and for all…

* * *

Angelica squeezed off five more shots from the Barrett before reloading. Each round flew down from the high desert rock ridge, finding and eliminating their marks.

"Good job, Angelica," Marco commended her, surveying the expansive besieged Jackal compound through a pair of binoculars, "Make sure nobody makes it through those narrow passes, or they'll flank us."

"Yes, sir," Angelica replied, continuing to locate and neutralize hostiles with amazing ease and uncharacteristically mechanical efficiency. In truth, her current effectiveness stemmed from the hope that Claes was alive. For the entire duration of time that her gaze passed through the Barrett's scope, Angelica was scanning the burning, crumbling buildings for the slightest glimpse of her friend. Unfortunately, so far the only living things to pass her field of vision were her enemies, none of whom could stay very lively for very long.

Marco pointed south-southwest, his eyes never detaching from his binoculars. "There," he said, "Someone's trying to sneak across the battlefield in a cardboard box."

Angelica scanned the area below and saw the small gray cube slinking over dead bodies and mortar craters. "Target sighted," she said emotionlessly as she pulled the trigger. "Target eliminated."

* * *

One hand on the jaw and the other at the base of the back of the neck. A little twist and the unfortunate Jackal that Claes had taken by surprise instantly became a corpse whose weapons now belonged to its killer. Claes considered the mercenary's armor for a moment, and decided against putting it on. However unlikely it was, there was still the possibility that wearing a Jackal uniform could cause Marco's snipers to mistake her for a hostile, and so Claes was forced to continue her mission wearing nothing except the casual street clothes that she had worn for her operation in Algiers.

She methodically stooped and picked up the Beretta 93R that the soldier had been carrying, performed a cursory maintenance evaluation and retrieved the extra ammunition that the mercenary had in his vest pockets. She checked the serial number on the weapon and found that it was in fact and by some eerie coincidence the exact pistol that she had used previously that day. Perhaps while she was unconscious the Jackal decided to scavenge it from her as a trophy or reward of some kind. Whatever the case, he didn't have the Beretta anymore and he wouldn't need it where he was going.

Claes walked cautiously down the hallway, keeping her weapon raised in front of her and pressing herself up against the cracked gray wall, all the while keeping away from any windows in the area. Outside the full moon was high in the star-dotted heavens. The night's darkness would hide her well and allow her to move about without too much trouble. This would be incredibly important, as the Jackals' base of operations turned out to be a massive collection of tightly-packed, concrete and steel structures of varying sizes. The close arrangement of the buildings were perfect for mortar teams to knock down, so Claes was not expecting any part of the compound to remain standing for very long. She had to keep moving.

Thankfully, at the center of the complex stood the tallest and most fortified structure that proved to be practically impervious to the shelling from the Desert Children. Claes inferred that her target _must_ be located there, as he would be most protected and be able to survey the damage caused throughout the compound, and so she headed to this tallest structure to meet with Fate…

* * *

"Sir," Angelica reported, still peering through the scope of her rifle, "There's some sniper activity within the top floor of the central building, but they've turned out the lights."

"Can you identify any targets?" Marco asked, turning his gaze to the structure in question.

Angelica answered, "Negative. They're keeping well away from the windows, but are picking and firing at targets rather efficiently."

A few meters away a mortar team launched a shell that flew upwards and came whistling down on the building. When the smoke cleared there was a blackened circle burnt into the walls and ceiling, but other than that there was no integral damage.

"Hmm," Marco mused, "It looks like that's where the most resistance will be. When it's clear we'll send in the trucks to take out the base of the building. That should cause it to buckle well enough. For now, though, switch your focus from ground targets to that structure there," he pointed to a specific building which looked identical to those around it, "It seems that the majority of the hostiles are coming out of there."

"Understood," Angie replied. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong…

* * *

Two quick bursts from her Beretta and Claes had sent four more Jackals to Charon's ferry. Now that her blood was flowing again and her body was working the chemicals out of its system, her recovery from the drugs was quickening, and this in turn brought up her reaction time and agility. Still, if she was going to reach Khalid before he attempted a getaway, and he was sure to have some hidden means of escape within his own complex, then Claes needed to hurry. Thankfully, she was getting close to the central structure now. She just needed to pass through this building and ascend to the top floor to confront Khalid. Of course she could be wrong and her target may not be where she predicted, but Claes decided to deal with that issue in due time.

At the moment, though, it seemed that she had found herself in the soldier's barracks, an unkempt, brightly lit, white-tiled, plaster-walled series of buildings full of military bunks, supply chests and, unfortunately for Claes, their owners as well. For every Jackal she killed, it seemed that three more would appear to investigate what was going on, despite the gunfire and explosions outside.

Claes jumped out into the hallway that she had arrived from, taking cover from the fire of the Jackals that had appeared on the opposite side of the room. She reloaded her Beretta making note of the fact that she had only three magazines left, and swore under her breath. "God," she said to herself impatiently, "I really don't have time for this!" She prepared to charge, but, thankfully, she hesitated.

If the mercenaries in the room had paused in their firing they would have heard a sharp whistling above their heads, escalating in volume with every passing second. Unfortunately for them, they didn't hear the whistling and consequentially they didn't bother changing their positions.

Although Claes also could not detect the whistling over the sound of gunfire, she _did_ hear a monstrous crash and watched as dust poured out of the barracks, obscuring her vision and interfering with her breathing. After a brief coughing spell, Claes peeked into the room and strained to see the dust. Where the Jackals had been standing previously, only a concrete-choked crater remained, and without hesitation, she crossed the room four strides, leaping over the crater and landing in the doorway beyond it, weapon held up and at the ready. She scanned tiled corridor, but all that was left was a group of six Jackal corpses strewn about. The majority of them had been killed by snipers and some of them had wounds indicating that a .50 caliber rifle had been used. She let out a low whistle, but was otherwise speechless from this seemingly unwarranted series of lucky breaks.

Claes picked up a Kalashnikov from one of the dead mercenaries, along with extra ammunition. She made sure the weapon was primed for firing before bolting down the corridor, staying low to avoid being spotted by snipers. A few rounds entered through the windows lining both sides of the corridor and exploded in the walls and floor next to her. One flew into the corridor and found its mark, lodging itself obliquely in the gastrocnemius muscle in the back of her right calf. She tripped and hit the floor, sliding with the forward momentum of her sprint cut short.

Claes swore, staying down to avoid any more sniper fire. She grunted to herself in panic and pain, "Those idiots are… going to kill me," she gritted her teeth and between them groaned in agony as artificial glands released vasoconstrictors into her body, reducing blood flow and decreasing the bleeding from her calf. This was a recently developed innovation from the scientists of the Social Welfare Agency, and honestly it was likely Claes' least favorite. However, now was not the time to complain about something as insignificant as a forced cramp. At the present moment, Claes had to worry about being killed, and by friendly fire, no less…

* * *

"Angelica," Marco ordered, "Faiz is telling me his snipers have downed a hostile on their way to the central building in that corridor," he pointed to the structure in question, "The DC can't get a shot off from where they're at, but we should be able to."

"Understood," Angelica said as she turned her scope toward the target corridor. She was despairing from the fact that she had not seen any sign of Claes, but she wasn't going to give up. Angelica was certain that Claes was somewhere in the maze of concrete buildings, and she was sure that her friend would pull through one way or another.

Angie scanned the corridor through the windows. She had fired upon this same structure earlier, clearing it of any Jackals that emerged from the adjacent building as Marco had previously ordered her to. Her sight quickly fell to a small, prone figure wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt and olive cargo shorts. A crimson pool of blood had formed underneath the figure's right leg.

"Marco!" Angelica cried out, pulling the scope from her eye which was already filling with tears of joy, "You have to tell Faiz to hold fire! That's Claes they're shooting at!"

Marco nodded in surprise and began issuing the order fervently through his communicator. Meanwhile, Angelica watched her friend lying in the hallway. Watched as she lifted her head up, surprised by the ceasefire, and pushed herself onto her knees and then onto her feet with her legs and hands shaking from the agony, the Kalashnikov dangling in Claes' small pale fist. Angelica watched Claes limp slowly down the rest of the hallway, drawing her Beretta because she was losing the strength to raise the AK, and watched as she disappeared into the central building in order to confront her demons. Just as Claes vanished from sight, Angelica's vision blurred with tears.

At the same time, outside of the rocky valley, a motorcade of trucks filled with high explosives was gathering at the entrance to a narrow pass that descended straight down and led to the ground floor of the central structure. Plastic explosives had been strapped to the engines of each truck. A team of Desert Children began to change the settings on the timers of the bombs. Marco and Angelica had forgotten…

* * *

Claes stood outside of a rusted metal door at the top of the tallest building in the Jackal compound, trying to sort out a strategy within her mind which was becoming difficult to control due to the excruciating pain in her leg and the dangerous levels of stress that she was under. Her breathing was shaky and irregular, her heart was thrashing about in her chest, she felt chilly yet a film of sweat soaked her palm, making the Beretta and AK in her hands feel slippery, and her entire body was shaking slightly. Was this fear she felt?

She heard that familiar, commanding, gravelly voice in her head, _Just count to three, Claes_. Was her mind playing tricks on her?

"One…" Claes counted and immediately she felt her body stop shaking. "Two…" Claes counted and immediately she felt the chill in her body dissipate and her palms dried. She holstered her Beretta and found the strength to lift the Kalashnikov. "Three," Claes counted as she bashed the rusted door open with her shoulder. Immediately her heart calmed, her breathing slowed, and she found peace and focus for the first time in her life.

The room was darkened to prevent the Desert Children from sniping accurately into it. A number of Jackal snipers were lined up against the sides of the windows, at a shouted order from a figure hidden somewhere in the dark room, a sniper would jump out, aim, fire, and jump back into cover.

As Claes entered, those closest to the door turned their heads, only to be greeted with quick double-taps in rapid succession from Claes' AK. She stormed further into the room, calmly picking and eliminating new targets with every step at an inhuman speed. One by one, the elite Jackal snipers were killed by Claes' fierce determination to put an end to the violence that had pulled her out of her quiet life and placed her in a situation where she was to break her sacred promise again and again. This determination and rage seemed almost to protect her, and she also seemed to wield them as if they themselves were tangible weapons.

In mere moments all of the snipers had been killed and Claes was left alone with her smoking barrel and carpet of shell casings. However, there was one last figure in the shadows that rose from its crouched position and fired its weapon at her.

Claes was hit hard in the side by the Taurus Raging Bull's .500 S&W Magnum rounds, which caused her to drop her AK-74. She quickly drew her pistol, clutching at her bleeding wound and aimed at the source of the shot, but despite the dark sky turning blue with the rising of the sun, the figure in the dark stayed away from the windows and remained hidden. Another shot came, this one hitting Claes at the top left of her chest throwing her shoulder back. Consequentially the muzzle flash revealed for an instant the hated face of Qadir Khalid, whose eyes were wide with terror and rage.

Claes raised her Beretta as her left shoulder was hit by the impact from Khalid's weapon and fired two wildly inaccurate shots, both, however, wounding their target. Khalid answered back with another magnum round before Claes could get a third shot off. This one lodged itself into Claes' torso, missing her lung by mere inches.

Now, both cyborg and target fired wildly at each other, Claes dispensing twelve more of her eighteen remaining rounds in the same amount of time it took for Khalid to fire twice more from his Raging Bull. Khalid was hit six more times in his upper torso, and Claes was hit once more in her midsection and felt the fifth magnum round graze her skull.

With each successive shot and hit, both Claes and Khalid were pushed back by the force and pain of each round. Claes stumbled backward, losing her balance, and Khalid took slower, steadier steps back toward the window behind him. The latter's silhouette was now revealed by the dark blue sunrise.

Claes fired her last two rounds, but at the same time she was hit in the right side of her chest, throwing her firing arm off and forcing her to miss and fall to the ground. If only she had fired sooner instead of waiting for Khalid to hit her twice. The old voice came up in her head again, this time sorrowful, regretful, _Didn't I tell you, Claes? Knowing _when_ to shoot is more important than knowing_ how_ to_.

Claes' vision blurred with the tears that she had held back for years. The energy granted to her by her fury and resolve ebbed away, dragged out by the same force that drained her blood from her wounds. "I'm sorry… Raballo," she whimpered weakly, "Angelica… I'm sor…ry…" Her voice died away as nothingness finally claimed her mind.

Nearby, Qadir Khalid was still on his feet, but critically wounded and losing a lot of his blood. He was becoming unsteady and his mind wasn't functioning properly. He continued to pull the trigger of his Raging Bull as if it was still loaded, and continued to step backward as if he was still being shot by his dead opponent. He stepped back again and again unsteadily until he was standing right outside the window. Then, instantly and quietly, his head was thrown sideways as a .50 caliber BMG round passed through the side of his skull, causing him to lose his balance and fall stiff and lifeless on his side…

* * *

Angelica peered through the scope of her Barrett, the barrel of which was still issuing smoke, and waited to confirm her kill. "Target eliminated, sir," she reported, "I think Claes was in there. It looked to me like he was shooting at someone."

"Is she alright?" Marco asked.

"I can't confirm her condition," Angelica replied sounding concerned, "I don't see any sign of her."

Marco tried to comfort his cyborg. "I'm sure she's alright, Angie," he said placing a hand on her shoulder, "Claes is strong and she's worked so hard in order to get back home. I doubt she'll let herself die before she realizes that goal."

Angelica was still doubtful. "You don't understand, Marco," she almost whispered, "Claes wanted to get _us_ home."

Marco held Angelica close and said quietly to her, "Have faith, Angelica. The fighting has died down. Soon we'll be able to get down there and find her ourselves."

Suddenly, Marco noticed movement down in the valley. He saw the narrow pass that served as the main entrance and exit for the Jackal compound, and he watched as several trucks rolled down the pass without drivers and sped toward the central building.

"No!" Marco cried out. He spoke into his communicator, "Hadi, call off the truck bombs, now!"

The communicator crackled to life and Hadi's voice responded in a panic, "I am sorry, Marco, but it is tool late to stop them!"

"Dammit!" Marco swore, "Angelica, do something!"

Without a word, Angelica took up the Barrett, peered through the scope and took aim. She fired and the leading truck veered off-course, flipped and became useless. She repeated this several more times, but there were too many trucks to handle and she soon had to reload. During this gap in time, three of the rigged trucks crashed through the walls of the central structure, burying themselves deep within its interior. A sickening pause ensued, and all at once the trucks that had rolled down the hill were obliterated in a series of fiery explosions that destroyed everything nearby, most notably the support structures within the central building of the complex. The building quaked and collapsed upon itself into a crumpled pile of steel and concrete.

Angelica stared in terror at all of this and whispered a word in quiet despair, as if afraid of shattering the universe which had already been weakened by the raucous uproar of the explosions. "No…"


	27. Choice

**Chapter 24: Choice**

There was the sound of birds; of leaves rustling gently in the sweet-scented wind. There was the feeling of the warm fingers of sunlight across her face. She opened her eyes and saw outside the window fat white clouds meandering across the cerulean sky, blurring the sun's rays and passing to let them shine through once more. _So_, she thought to herself, _This is Heaven_.

"You're awake," a small, excited voice called out.

She turned her head away from the window and met face to face with a beautiful, delicate, teary-eyed Angel. It was an Angel she knew. "I'm sorry," she suddenly cried to the Angel in despair, "I tried to protect you. I did my best… my very best. But I guess it wasn't good enough to save either of us, and now we're both here."

The Angel tilted her head, staring quizzically and then replied laughingly, suddenly understanding, "Claes, you're in the infirmary at the Social Welfare Agency. You – _we_… are home."

It was then that Claes heard them: the mundane sounds of humanity. She heard the steady beeping of the electrocardiogram sitting next to her and the scurrying of nurses and doctors outside in the hallway. Claes heard the flipping of paper as Angelica fingered the pages of the thin children's book in her hand. "How did I…?" Claes started to ask, however she wasn't quite sure how to phrase the question on her mind.

"..Survive?" Angelica finished for her. Claes nodded her head doubtfully and Angie answered, "It really was a miracle. That metal collar you were wearing was damaged beyond repair and Marco had to use power tools to remove it, but underneath, your neck was fine. The doctors say that if you hadn't had the collar on, your neck would have been broken."

Claes' jaw dropped slightly. "Wow," she said blankly as she rubbed her throat which was bare for the first time in weeks, "That's… horribly ironic. It feels nice having the collar off, though. What about the rest of my body?"

Angelica smiled and said, "The doctors had to replace one of your arms and the leg that was hit by the sniper, but other than that all they had to do was remove the bullets in your body and patch up the wounds."

Claes shook her head in denial. "No," she said, "There's no way I could have survived. I was shot at point-blank range by a magnum multiple times."

"The building you were in collapsed on top of you too," Angelica added nonchalantly.

"It _what_?!" Claes exclaimed.

Angelica explained, "While you were inside of the central Jackal structure, the Desert Children mistakenly sent in their car bombs and demolished it. You managed to survive, though, because you ended up in a hollow in the rubble."

Claes almost whispered, "I'm not that lucky, Angie…"

Angelica giggled, "I agree. But you were this time."

"What happened to Hadi and the Desert Children?"

"Both are just the same as the day we met them. On the record, we never set foot in Algeria, so they never 'officially' did anything. Hadi is still of the chief of the Algiers police force and Faiz is still the leader of a pack of desert-dwelling mercenaries. They are a little better off when it comes to equipment, though."

Claes pouted, "They all deserve to get medals." Suddenly, she remembered her mission in Algeria and asked anxiously, "What about the Jackals?"

Angelica smiled and answered, "They won't be a problem for anyone anymore."

Claes sighed in relief and then there was an overwhelming, yet calm silence as both girls contemplated what to say next. They had come frighteningly close to losing one another, so a casual conversation seemed impossible. At the same time, Claes was too embarrassed and Angelica too shy to have a loving, tear-filled reunion.

"So…" Claes started unsurely, "What happens now?"

Angelica instantly became somber and said slowly, "Well, you have some choices."

"Such as…?"

"I think we should wait until Marco gets here."

Claes frowned, but decided not to pursue the issue. If Angelica was uncomfortable with telling her the choices, then obviously the choices weren't very favorable. She changed the subject, "What are you reading?"

Angelica showed her the title, _The Prince in the Land of Pasta_. "Marco gave me this book. At first I didn't remember what the story was, but with the doctors' work I was able to remember that Marco used to always tell me this story when I went in to get my shots. He stopped when my memories started failing."

"The doctors have done a lot for our survivability, haven't they?"

"They couldn't have done it without you."

Before Claes could give her touching comments on the life of a guinea pig, there was a knock at the open door and both cyborgs turned to see Marco standing in the doorway. "Welcome home, Claes," he said in his typically serious manner.

"Hello Marco," Claes answered in a similar tone.

"So," Marco said with a hint of a smirk on his face, "Have you made up your mind yet?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Do you want to live, or die?" Marco delivered his punchline with as much comical inflection as someone giving a eulogy at a funeral.

"Oh, I see," Claes replied blankly, yet somehow playfully, "You're not very good with jokes Marco."

"So I'm told, but even I am allowed to make one every now and then."

"So," Claes said in a very business-like manner, "Why don't we just get to it?"

"I agree," Marco responded, "The Agency has given you two options, but I've managed to get Chief Lorenzo to consider giving you a third. First, they wipe your memories again and you go back to your life before the hypnosis treatment. I'll warn you now, though. Dr. Belisario has told me that with the amount of tampering that your mind has already experienced, there's a high chance that you will experience psychological trauma with another mind wipe."

"Well," Claes said in mock nonchalance, "That option doesn't sound very appealing. What is the second?"

"The second option," Marco started grimly, glancing quickly at Angelica who had suddenly turned very pale and was biting her lip nervously, "Is to have the Agency 'euthanize' you."

Claes tried to come off as casual, and honestly was not surprised by the second option. What surprised her was having an option at all. Marco must have fought hard with the Chief to evacuate her from Algeria to save her, especially considering the condition she was in. "But…" Claes tried countering, "I'm not terminally ill or anything like that. How could killing me be considered euthanasia?"

"The 'official' records say that all of the children living in the Agency are here for medical treatments and prosthetics, and technically this is true. It shouldn't be too hard to conceive a story about one of these children suffering from a chronic disease, should anyone come poking around."

Claes almost laughed. "I see how it is."

Marco said reproachfully, and with regret, "I'm not getting any satisfaction or relief from telling you this Claes. The Agency thinks that the memories you have of Raballo are dangerous and give you incentive to betray us, but I know better. Don't talk to me as if I personally wanted this for you."

"Didn't you though?"

"No," Marco answered immediately and indignantly. However, at Claes' piercing gaze, he admitted shamefully, "Well… yes, at first. I was afraid of the threat you posed for us, but I quickly realized that you were a loyal soldier not because of the collar I had around your throat, but because of this girl I have by my side." He put his arm around the blushing Angelica's shoulders and pulled her close. "…As well as for the other girls," he finished quietly.

Claes was silent for some time. Marco had changed. Whether it was because of something she had done, or their experiences in Algeria, she wasn't sure. However, what was certain was Marco's genuine concern for her and Angelica. "You said there might be a third option," Claes said plainly. It was a useless statement, though, because she already knew what the third option was. Also, in her mind she had already made her choice.

"The Chief is considering letting you keep your memories _and_ your life without further conditioning, but in exchange you have to go back out on the field and wear the shock collar again."

"Would they assign me a new handler?" Claes asked.

"No," Marco answered, "I wouldn't allow it. You would be working with Angelica and I."

Claes pretended to think for a moment, looking at Marco. In reality, she just wanted to take in her surroundings; the birdsongs, breeze, sunlight, and even the electrocardiogram. Most of all, though, she wanted to take in the sight of her second handler holding close her sweet, reddened, embarrassed sister. Claes wanted to absorb all of it, the most perfect scene in her life, before she destroyed it, and with this thought tears came to her eyes for the second time as she tore them away from Marco and Angelica. Wordlessly and with head hung low, she held up two fingers. Her choice.

"Are you sure?" Marco asked softly, like the most loving father a daughter could ask for. When Claes nodded, Marco sighed shakily, close to shedding a tear. "In that case I have to inform the Chief." He released Angelica, whose mouth had suddenly shrunk as she pursed her lips and looked down at the tiled floor, holding back her saltwater sorrow.

Before leaving the room, however, Marco found the courage to turn around. "Claes," he said, audibly choking, "I… I'm sorry for everything I've put you through. I know it's no consolation, but after getting to work with you… I know now why Raballo tried what he did. Maybe… maybe I shouldn't have stopped him after all."

Claes answered, sage-like and forgiving, "You're wrong Marco. That is the only consolation I've ever wanted in my life."

Marco nodded and hesitantly turned to leave and seal his new friend's fate. There was nothing else that needed to be said between the two of them.

Now only Claes and Angelica remained in the hospital room, the former looking at the latter, trying to get her attention. However, Angelica was distracted by the pain she felt.

"This is the part," Claes said, trying to uplift her friend, "Where you hit me and tell me that if I want to die I should kill myself."

Angelica finally looked into Claes' eyes, not in despair or sadness, but with strength. "We were immature back then," she said, "If we could back, knowing what we know now, I wouldn't have said what I said, and you wouldn't have done what you did.

I understand you now, Claes, and I know you understand me."

"So you know why I made my choice?"

"Of course. You won't take the first option because you don't want to forget again. It's not the danger of brain damage that keeps you from choosing that fate. You won't choose it because you would be betraying Raballo if you did."

Claes nodded and said approvingly, "Very good. But why won't I choose the third option if I get to live and keep my memories of him?"

Angelica answered immediately and confidently, "It's because of your promise with Raballo. It always has been about that promise. You know that Raballo wasn't concerned with the way you act with and without those glasses. He wanted your freedom and if he could make it so you would always think before acting based on your own judgment and conditions rather than that of the Agency's, then at least he could leave you with that instead of just your training, your gun, and the blood on your hands."

"Angelica," Claes said beaming at her beloved friend, "No one else could have said that better than you. Not me, nor all of the books in the world. I do have one request, though."

"Anything. What is it?"

"Could you read that book to me?" Claes pointed at Angelica's story, "I heard Priscilla talking about it a while back, and I never thought it was real. But now that I know it is…"

"Of course I'll read it to you, Claes," Angelica said, opening the book to the first page.

Claes made to wipe the tears from her eyes and was surprised when her hand contacted something, shifting her view and vision. She had been wearing her glasses the whole time and she hadn't realized it.

"Oh," Angelica said, smiling a smile with a mixture of happiness, satisfaction, and melancholy, "And thank you, Claes, for keeping _your_ promise."

Claes laughed and sat up attentively as Angelica started. "Once upon a time, there was a land of pasta…"

And there was not a birdsong sweet enough, a breeze strong enough, nor a war terrible enough to take Claes' attention away from Angelica.

_Fin_


End file.
